


The Trials of Reality

by Thornvale



Series: The Eye of the Machine [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Minor Original Character(s), Supernatural Elements, Team as Family, Technology, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornvale/pseuds/Thornvale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout and Sniper fail to renew their contracts and begin their journey into the big, wide world, but the light of opportunity casts many shadows. Sometimes, reality is more of a prison than any imaginary world provided by machines. (Sequel to The Trials of California.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving Forwards

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'The Trials of California'. Team Fortress 2 and its characters are the property of Valve Software. This story is non-profit.

“Crikey, Scout! Slow down!”

“No way!”

Scout laughed and slammed his foot down on the pedal. Sniper's dad's car was a tiny blue thing that looked like it was made out of tin, but hey, it wasn't like the camper van was around any more. Not that Sniper would have let him drive that thing, anyway. It hadn't taken him too long to learn the basics, and though it was pretty weird having the driver's seat on the right, there was nothing stopping Scout from hurtling along the Australian countryside and mowing down any flimsy fence or crop that got in his way.

Sniper was holding on to both the top of his window and the side of his seat, clinging on for dear life as the car swerved and jolted all over the place. The poor guy was quickly turning an abrupt shade of green, though it seemed little was going to deter the boy from utilising this new-found skill.

“Look, you were lucky enough to be knocked out last time we almost got splattered in a crash,” Sniper bellowed, reluctantly releasing the seat to attempt to grab Scout a few times until his hand finally landed on his companion's shoulder. “I spent seven hours with a crushed pelvis – worse, I had to look at your stupid mug the whole time. Get your foot off the accelerator!”

“Jeez, all right! It was you who wanted to come out here!”

The car continued sailing along. Scout pressed down on the brake a little too firmly, causing an abrupt shift in speed. Thankfully, the grass beneath them was sodden and thoroughly muddy, resulting in the vehicle skidding forwards a good way and almost slamming into the horse paddock. The animals inside were suitably startled, much to Sniper's dismay. Scout watched as the man quickly exited the vehicle and trudged through mud to get to the horses and attempt to calm them down by holding up his hands.

Rolling his eyes, Scout reversed slightly to make sure the car wasn't stuck in the mud. The farm was _awesome,_ but Sniper was so weirdly hellbent on keeping it pristine that he wasn't allowed to do anything fun. Sure, the guy had recently put it up for sale since they had come here, but still. This place, as Sniper often said, was so rustic and almost _pure_ , so unlike the nearby city of Adelaide that it felt more comforting, somehow, because it wasn't filled with all the whacky tech and terrifying Australians that the city was. It was pretty big, too, and there were all kinds of animals that were looked after by people Sniper called jackaroos, or jillaroos if they were ladies.

It had been cool to just lay back for a while, too. The two men had visited all kinds of awesome places on their way to the other side of the world. They'd gone to Iceland, first, and hell, was that ever a party. Scout couldn't remember much of that particular part of their journey, though he knew that they had drank a ton of ale with vikings, and that he had, in a drunken stupor, put his ass over the edge of an active geyser just to see what would happen. Next, they flew over to the nearby United Kingdom – another country with a natural propensity for alcohol, and thus that was a series of stories lost to the mistress of intoxication. Apparently, London was not unlike any Australian city with the high tech gadgetry, only everything was rather more … industrial revolution themed, and everybody wore waistcoats and top-hats. It was awesome, as far as he could remember.

They went to Norway, Spain, Italy, stopped in Thailand for a day or two, and even went exploring the Tibetan mountains to visit the monasteries there. He had read about the countries of the world, visited a couple on occasion to fight some dumb war in out-of-the-way places, but nothing could have prepared him for what Europe, Asia, and Oceania really offered. He had never realised how different people of other cultures were, and he had only just managed to hold his tongue in places of respect like the terribly old and giant cathedrals scattered about the UK and the rest of Europe. He'd shown the kindly Tibetan monks the respect they were due (mostly because Sniper subtly kicked him in the shin whenever he made to swear out of awe of some view or exotic animal). He'd enjoyed the journey all the more because of it, and it wasn't over yet, for they had only stopped in Australia so that Sniper could sell his old home, and then they'd be on the trail across the world again. Japan was next on their list.

Despite all they were sharing in together, Sniper had barely said a word since leaving the US.

While it was commonplace for the Australian to go through long periods of sullen silence, his odd demeanour as of late was disconcerting. Scout put it down to the fact he knew they were heading for Australia and thus facing finally selling his family home. Still, the death of his parents was not a recent occurrence, and Scout had never quite seen him like this. He seemed lost, sometimes, or like he wasn't truly getting any joy out of the places they were visiting. Scout tried taking pictures on his brand new camera to add to Sniper's collection, but he was pretty sure the assassin would be frowning in all of them come their development.

Now that they were in Adelaide, Sniper's mood had turned increasingly dire, and it showed in his face as he turned back to the car and sneered in Scout's direction. He climbed back into the vehicle and sat back with his arms firmly folded over his chest, eyes concealed behind his hat and sunglasses.

“Sorry,” Scout bleated. Unsure how to pacify his friend further, he simply drove on, making sure he was staying at a safe speed and far away from any pens and paddocks that they passed. The land was spacious enough that somebody could learn to drive with relative ease, though of course, Sniper probably wasn't the best teacher at this moment in time, growling whenever Scout changed gears too awkwardly or not saying anything at all when he did something right. The boy was quickly growing irritated, though did his best to stay quiet, knowing full well that his friend was probably still grieving.

Soon, they passed off into open space. Adelaide could be seen in the distance. To their side, great, rolling hills went on for miles and miles to form mountains, the dark silhouettes of which could be seen against the beginnings of twilight in the sky.

“Where're we goin', anyway? Is this the end?” Scout asked.

“Not quite. Stop by those hills for a sec.”

He did as bid, steering the car closer to the grassy mounds and eventually switching off the engine. Sniper wordlessly opened his door and left to walk towards a break in the hills. The boy watched him for a moment. He wasn't sure if it was the thin cut of his friend's vibrantly khaki-coloured button-up shirt, but the guy seemed thinner, somehow. He had never been the beefiest guy to begin with, but he'd still been fairly broad and firm in the shoulders and forearms. Now, he seemed oddly smaller, and older. Scout didn't like it.

With a swallow, he abandoned the car and caught up in no time at all, racing ahead to venture through the small valley between the hills. His jaw dropped when he reached the end.

Stretched out before him was a sea of yellow. It was some kind of flowering crop that drowned the hillsides in such awesome colour that it was nearly blinding at first, and in the light of the setting sun, each and every petal seemed to glow and bathe the countryside with a beauty unlike Scout had ever seen. Close by, to the east, the land stretched down for a couple of miles, and he could see a lake glittering at the bottom of the natural bowl formed by the hills. Even further in the distance, grey clouds had formed and swallowed the view with heavy rain, but it hadn't reached them just yet, so Scout was free to admire this rare relic of natural beauty in a world so vastly industrialised. Having lived most of his life in Boston, he hadn't gotten out much, but maybe all those years were worth it to see stuff like this.

“Dude!” he said excitedly, rushing up to the field of yellow flowers to pick one and inspect it more closely. “What is it?”

“Rapeseed. It's grown for its oil. You probably know it as canola. This lot always brought in the biggest paycheck of the year – at least until I started getting hired with me job and all.”

Scout turned and watched as Sniper lowered himself down onto the hillside, hidden eyes seemingly set on the remarkable view. His sunglasses glowed an ominous shade of orange in the light. The boy suddenly felt oddly uncomfortable, because he could just sense that something bad was coming and there was no chance of him just running off and avoiding it. He'd kind of sensed it approaching for a long time, but now his heart was beginning to beat a little faster and his gut clenched and despite the beauty of their surroundings, he felt horrible. Sniper had brought him out here for a purpose.

“Seems like a good kinda place to talk about something, right?” Scout acknowledged. “Kind of like in a movie, but when the good guy's got some bad news the other good guy doesn't wanna hear.”

That brought a small smile to Sniper's lips. “Yeah.” As expected, he lit a cigarette and rested his forearms on his knees.

“I thought maybe you didn't wanna come back here, man. I get it, right? I'm not mad at ya for being a grumpy old fuck this whole time. Yeah, when you was teachin' me how to drive? That was pretty cool, man. And, aw, remember when I got my pants pulled down by that monkey in the monastery? That made ya laugh, right? I'm just glad I got to see all that stuff.”

A wheezy, growly chuckle escaped the assassin. “Yeah. Look, after everythin' that happened, you just bounced right back up again. I guess I didn't. And there's … somethin' else.” Sniper rubbed the back of his neck before transferring his hand to his face, where he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. His sunglasses then remained at the point of his nose, and Scout could see that the tiredness he had noted way before was still there. "I don't really know how to say it."

"All right, you don't want me here any more, do ya? I get it, you got important assassin stuff to do and I can't get in the way -"

Sniper silenced him with a dangerous look. "That ain't it."

“You sick, man?” the younger of them blurted out suddenly, vocalising the second thought that came into his head. “Yeah, that's it, right? You got that look. That's been it this whole freakin' time! Ah, jeez!” Feeling like he'd just been hit with a sack of bricks, Scout felt almost dizzy for a moment and like he was dreaming, like the whole place wasn't really there. Their surroundings were way too pretty to be _real_. The kid began to pace to try and absorb the information - because the silence that met him only confirmed that, somehow, he had been right with his likely insensitive assumption. His mind was rife with disbelief, but why would his friend lie to him about something like this? Was this a thing that was actually happening? “Now that respawn's gone, you ain't gonna get better, are ya? I remember Medic tellin' me that some a'the guys would just flat out die if not for the respawn! I didn't think he was bein' serious, but ...”

Sniper's expression of utter shock confirmed it all a second time. Scout, immediately upset, acted without thinking suddenly ran off a small distance, dropping down when he felt he was far away enough and burying his face into his arms and knees because there wasn't anything else that he could do. He didn't know why he was acting like a kid, but it was just his way in the face of bad situations, and somehow he'd just known that something had been wrong this whole time. He never really got to have a proper childhood, because anything good always came with something bad attached and he'd already lost his dad and most of his brothers and how was he meant to face losing someone else again when they were meant to be showing the world who was boss? The joy he had felt on driving like a madman through Sniper's farm was quickly ebbing away to be replaced with horror and shock and all manner of other things.

There had always been a purpose to Sniper taking Scout out alone. Usually, it was to get away from the battles and eat in some random diner so that they could pretend they were normal guys. Sometimes, it was to play some dumb ass prank that left him wheezing with his stupid, Aussie laughter. Once, it was to take the kid home, and then he'd ended up saving his life. And now? Now it was because everything would be coming to an end and it was _all that stupid Sniper's fault for being such an idiot_ -

Scout stood up and attempted to wrestle Sniper away when the other man approached, furious at him for the news and enraged because what the hell was he meant to do now? Go back to Boston and pretend like nothing happened? Somehow, he managed to shove hard enough that Sniper stumbled and landed flat on the back, though given the slope of the hill, it wasn't that much of a distance. Still, Scout immediately knelt beside his friend and clutched his head in his hands in panic.

“Shit – sorry, man – you okay? I didn't mean ta -”

“Shut it,” Sniper snapped, finding his cigarette in the grass and shoving it back into his mouth for a moment. He rolled away from Scout and stood, his entire form braced as if he was stopping himself from lashing out in return. After a second or two, he relaxed. “It was those pills, y'know. The Mann Co. ones that like, expand the kidneys or some shit, for the sake of Jarate. Did it ever start to hurt after a while. I went to Medic and he flat out said my kidneys were shutting down, soon to be followed by everythin' else. I thought goin' through respawn would sort it, 'cause that's what happens usually, right?” He paused for a time. “Turns out that every death kind of gets stored in the system so that things can be investigated if needs be. They can take a condition that one of us was in and simply restore it when we pass through it again by setting it as the default.”

“Wait,” Scout said quickly, grabbing his friend's arm. “They did it on _purpose_?”

“Yeah. Look, I was buggin' them an awful lot about terminatin' my contract after what happened with me parents. And, well … let's put it this way: when I was doin' some private jobs for the Administrator, that meant I was learnin' more about her business than some of you other blokes. They never wanted to let me go, but as a safety precaution, I guess they set my default to _terminally ill_. It worked, I 'spose. I got away with you before they could force me into signing another contract, but they've got me in a box, regardless.”

Scout thought for a moment, desperately trying to think a way out of the situation. His face lit up with an idea, and he grabbed Sniper's other arm so that he could stare him straight in the face.

“They've gotta still have you in the system, right? So that means they've got a non-terminally ill you! Engie or Spy have gotta know how to hook you up and reset the default! C'mon!” He walked backwards, attempting to tug Sniper along with him. “We'll go back to your place and give him a call and see if he can do it!”

“It's a long shot,” Sniper muttered, reluctantly moving forwards. “People not associated with RED can't just contact 'em, let alone enter their bases undetected and use the respawn machine. We can't -”

“Come on!” Scout interrupted, a sudden anger to his tone. There was no way he was listening to any kind of excuse. Not now.

“Lad, there isn't -”

“Come _on!_ ” The boy roughly pulled at Sniper again, only to find himself being pulled backwards in turn, and somehow he ended up with his face in the older man's chest. Only then did he realise how hard he was breathing, how hard his heart was beating, and that his arms were locked around the other guy's torso. There came a silence that was far too miserable to be awkward. Something similar had happened when the two were trapped in the desert, but them being in a dreamworld formed by a machine at the time, it was only now that Scout really took note of how warm the Australian was and how he smelt like cigarettes and cheap aftershave. It was like holding on to a beloved pet dog as a kind of farewell, only different, because Sniper wasn't a pet dog. Scout wasn't really sure what he was, but it was something enough that he could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

No Scout worth his salt cried for anything, but he wasn't a Scout any more.

Feeling calloused but oddly gentle hands at his shoulders, the boy quickly tore away from the weird thing they had going on and raced away into the valley between the hills. Spotting the car exactly where he had left it, he climbed inside and remained sat with his hands firmly grasping the steering wheel. Was this how Sniper had felt when they had crashed and he couldn't do anything but stare helplessly at the casualty next to him? Scout was definitely starting to feel the guilt right about now. He'd called his friend a grumpy old fuck with no idea what the reason behind Sniper's bad mood was, and now he had no real clear idea of what he could do to help. All he knew was that he'd do his best, because he wouldn't be there in that car if Sniper hadn't decided that one time to not be a grumpy old fuck and actually care.

Hearing his friend enter the car, Scout slowly turned his head to regard him.

“If the Administrator had it in for ya, d'ya think that's what caused the crash in ya van?”

Sniper wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was biting anxiously on a finger knuckle and gazing out of his window.

“Good chance, but no worries, mate. You won't get all caught up in this mess again.”

“Is that why ya let me come out here with you?”

“Sure. A kid like you shouldn't be wound up with the likes of the Administrator and the guys workin' for her. Better you got out when ya did. Besides,” Sniper murmured, lowering his hand and glancing at the younger man, “you said you wanted to see the world. I do, too. May as well do it together, eh?”

The trip back to the house was spent in sullen silence. Scout was rarely comfortable with silence, but he couldn't even acknowledge this one. Maybe that was why Sniper was usually on the quiet side. Maybe he was always worrying. Maybe he just hated people. It was probably a mixture of both. As for Scout, he just felt as if he was in a daze, and he couldn't really put a finger on why. Sniper was, all in all, just some dude that he worked with, a dude who had gotten him out of a sticky situation a few times, just someone he got food with and drank beer with. Why the hell did it feel like he was six years old and him and his Ma had just been walked out on again?

He felt so horrible that he felt sick, so as soon as they got back to the house, Scout rushed to the kitchen and hovered over the sink for a moment. Nope, wasn't going to puke, so he raided the fridge for some of those weird Australian snacks and planted himself on the sofa in front of the TV. Beside the sofa was a red phone with a coiled wire. He eyed it, then placed his chips to one side and reached for the receiver, quickly trying to remember the number to Engineer's workshop. Affected by an adrenaline-rush, it didn't take him long, and he quickly typed the country code and phone number.

_Sorry, but the number you have dialled is unavailable._

He tried again, only to receive the same response. Only after the fifth attempt did he slowly hang up and lean back on the sofa, features completely despondent.

 


	2. There's a Little Heart in Everyone

Miss Pauling had only been to Australia a couple of times and always for the sake of work. Both times, something awful had happened, whether they were apprehended by Saxton Hale or targeted by Australium-hunters. Though she was loathe to admit it, a tiny lady like her didn't stand much chance against the giant Australians, despite her generous knowledge of guns and self-defence. Last time she had tried to shoot one of them, the bullet had just bounced straight off the guy's pectoral and embedded itself into the nearest wall.

This mission, for once, was nothing to do with Australium. Miss Pauling wasn't sure she liked this mission, but who was she to go against her direct superior, the Administrator? That lady was as intelligent as she was ruthless. So intelligent, in fact, that there was probably no room for any kind of emotion in that cunning mind of hers. Her small, black eyes were always set on her goal. This time? It was to pin down one she considered a traitor and ensure that he wasn't about to go spilling her secrets.

It was kind of a shame, Miss Pauling thought. She'd gotten to know the mercenaries pretty well over the last five or six years. She'd seen Sniper die, once, just after being abandoned a second time by his birth parents, and it was one of the few times she'd actually felt guilt because of something that had happened under her watch. At least that had been a fairly quick death. She hadn't entirely enjoyed changing his default in the respawn system, either, but a job was a job, and at the end of the day, the guy was expendable because he knew far too much.

As she drove her purple moped down an Australian motorway, she glanced behind her to make sure the armoured vehicle containing several large and dangerous men was still following her. As much as she liked to think she could deal with a Sniper and Scout on her own, the Administrator had insisted otherwise and paired her up with a bunch of guys who looked more like pirates than anything.

Her communicator began to buzz. It was a new piece of tech sent to them by Mann Co. It was kind of like a phone, only it had a screen so that she could see the face of whoever was calling her. _In colour._ The thing was, the Administrator was the only person who called her, and with this stupid thing, Pauling couldn't exactly lie about how far along she was with a job when the woman on the other side of the screen could see everything.

“Ma'am?” she shouted quickly upon answering, holding up the device and beginning the difficult task of navigating the busy road with one hand. “We're fresh out of Adelaide airport and a few miles away from the suburbs. You're sure they've gone back to his house?”

“Of course I'm sure!” the Administrator barked, a lock of dark, grey hair falling into her withered face for a moment. Well, at least it wouldn't be difficult to hear her over the hundreds of hover-cars surrounding Pauling on all sides. “The idiot's house has appeared on the property market, and I've got several informants throughout Europe and Asia. There's nowhere else they can be.”

“What do you want done with them, ma'am?”

“Oh, if the barbaric Australian hadn't dragged our only Scout along with him, I would simply have left him to die miserably at the hands of his rotting organs, but as it is, he could be telling the boy anything even as we speak. Kill him, but bring the boy back. Interrogate him and see what he knows. He could still be fit for service.”

Pauling squeaked as she narrowly avoided getting squashed between two jet-propelled coaches. As it turned out, there was no kind of order on these roads and whoever was fastest gained right of way. Compared to the high tech monstrosities threatening to knock her clean over at every moment, she may as well have been riding a hair-dryer. Worse, the twilit sky was swiftly clouding over and rain was sweeping beneath them, and all Pauling was wearing was a thin, purple shirt and skirt.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to hang up!” she called, and she brought the phone right up close to her face so that she could wipe her glasses dry with her hand. The Administrator's sound of affront did not go unnoticed.

“Don't do that again! You know how much I _hate_ seeing youthful complexions up close -”

“I know! I'm just -” The young woman slowed down just in time to allow a hovering tractor overtake her. “I'm just trying not to get killed! I'll call you later!”

With that, she hung up. Oh, was she ever going to get flack for that, later, but the young assistant forced herself not to think about that. She'd make it up, like she always did. Giving up her one day off a year would likely settle matters, but a tiny, non-efficient part of her mind rejected that idea. She worked day in, day out, all without complaint! And she'd actually managed to make some _friends_ lately. It was probably a shame, then, that she was pursuing two of them with the objective of murdering one and torturing information out of the other. It was the first time she had wanted to object to a mission, but nobody argued with the Administrator and lived. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, Miss Pauling was largely more important than eighteen bumbling mercenaries who were easily replaced. Those guys needed _holidays_. Who still needed vacation time in the _seventies_?

By the time they arrived at the ranch, it was approaching midnight. Miss Pauling and her guys left their vehicles some distance away so that they weren't heard approaching. With a thoughtful hum, the woman took up the pair of binoculars around her neck and inspected the house ahead. The downstairs lights were on, which meant life was present, she just had to be sure it was the right people. Everything appeared near enough the same as the last time she was here, she noted somewhat forlornly, with the exception of an old, blue car that was parked higgledy-piggledy by the porch. Last time she had been here, it was to find the RED Sniper and bring him back to the team. And now? It was to erase him from it.

Through the window, she very briefly spotted Scout.

She turned to face the four guys she had brought with her. They were all behemoths that had shaved heads and eyepatches and spiked, leather jackets. Pauling had no idea where the Administrator had found them, though it was possible they had once been contenders for a mercenary role. It seemed more likely that she had found them in some downtown city bar and enticed them with a fat pay-check.

“Okay, I'll keep it simple,” Miss Pauling began, kneeling down to produce gun parts from her handbag. She then began expertly assembling a lethal looking shotgun. “Kill the tall guy, keep the little guy alive. Don't get it the wrong way round, or the Administrator will have us _all_ killed. Just, uh, stay by me, I guess.”

The men grunted and loaded their guns.

 

* * *

 

Scout paced.

And paced. And paced.

It hadn't long hit him just what was happening, and though it had hit him hard, he managed to keep it hidden, or so he thought. He tried to call Engineer again several times, then Medic, then everybody else on the team, but every time, he only got the same response as before – that all of the numbers were unavailable. Maybe there was some technical mess up down the line, but it sure as hell hadn't come at a good time.

It looked like the news had only just hit Sniper, too. He was sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and head slightly bowed, toying with his fingers one by one.

The house was near enough empty, now. It had long since been cleared out of almost everything, save for the sofa, TV, the fridge, and washing machine. The walls and floor were clean, bare, and everything just looked so horribly empty that Scout wasn't sure how Sniper could stand it, but he supposed there were more prominent concerns on his mind. Scout had only just really noticed just how bare it all was, despite being in the damn place since the day before. He'd just been so hyped up by everything that was behind them and everything that was ahead of them and the fact Sniper was finally worn down enough that he'd agreed to teach him how to drive. Frustrated by his surroundings and how he was feeling, he approached a wall and flopped his forehead against it with a groan.

“We should get some sleep. C'mon,” Sniper muttered, breaking the silence. He turned down the TV a little and stood to begin arranging Scout's blankets on the sofa, though he was forced to stop when the boy's hand suddenly clamped down on his forearm.

“Seriously, man. Just freakin' don't.”

Sniper's jaw tensed. “Don't what?” he responded in a gravelly tone, pulling his arm away to finish tidying the makeshift bed.

“Don't be so goddamn _nice_ , man!” After a small struggle, Scout removed the blanket from his friend's hands and found himself purposefully slinging it all over the place. “Ya think I ever made my bed at home? I like sleepin' in a good mess! I never even let Ma tidy up after me. What makes ya think I'm gonna let _you?_ ” In an obnoxious gesture, he wiped his nose on the back of his arm and then began kicking over the single sleeping bag lying nearby. “Look, you sleep on the couch, aight?. Only 'cause I'm worried about how freakin' dumb you are. You should be in a hospital, not kickin' back on some ranch tryin' to look after me. Well, _newsflash_ , guy: I don't need no lookin' after! I can go back to Boston on my own!”

That seemed a hit a nerve, however briefly, as Sniper quickly turned to look at him.

“You're all gob, mate.”

“Yeah? Try me, man! I'm gonna drive ya to hospital first thing tomorrow and then I'm climbin' on the first plane home!”

He wasn't telling the truth. He was doing the only thing he really knew to do in situations that he wasn't sure how to handle. Scout was losing his temper and losing it quickly, and if lying meant he might find some reassurance in his storm of uncertainty, then so be it. His Ma used to do it whenever her boyfriends were being dicks and going off to woo other girls, because it was the last resort and if it meant having that one person's hand to hold a little while longer then surely that was worth anything, right? He didn't exactly get the fawning and comfort he was looking for, however, because he had forgotten, in his upset, that Sniper very rarely had time for bullshit.

“You're gonna turn this into an argument, are ya?” the assassin barked suddenly, taking a step backwards as if he knew he'd do some serious harm otherwise. “Well, all right. Maybe I was thick to expect you to have learned something from what happened in California -”

“What the hell has that gotta do wi'this?!”

“Right now? The fact you gotta take somethin' and make out like it's _my_ fault, just like when -”

“It is your fault!” Scout shouted, and he was somewhat dismayed to feel the metaphorical tap behind his mouth quickly unloosening as his anger worsened. “You pissed off the Administrator! You usually always kept to yaself, man – ya couldn't have done it for that one thing, too? Why'd you have to bug her about leavin'? Well, now you're gonna die and if you're gonna leave me on my own then I'll do the same right back to ya! Yeah, so long, pal!”

“Ya've got no idea what happened back there,” Sniper snarled. “All the more, the only reason you're upset is 'cause there's no one else who's got the patience to put up with all your shite, just like now -”

Scout darted forwards and swung his arm like he was pitching a ball, the assassin's words having stung far too much, but Sniper reacted like he knew exactly what was coming and caught the younger man's arm. All the air was forced out of the boy's lungs as he was expertly counter-attacked and forced down onto his back. Before he could even react, he was being rolled onto his front and a pair of iron hands were holding his wrists fast to his spine. Scout snarled and spat and tried to wriggle his way out of the hold, but when Sniper seated himself on top of his assailant, there was little chance of escape.

“Let's talk about this like two adult blokes before one of us ends up dismembered – and that ain't gonna be me.”

“Fuck you, man!” Scout retorted violently, though his voice was substantially weaker than before. Since when did emotions take such a toll on the body? All of a sudden, he felt like he had no energy at all, and it wasn't because he was tired. It was because he was utterly miserable and there wasn't anything in the world that was going to make him feel better, because at the end of the day, Sniper was right. The boy hadn't really acknowledged it until learning of what he was going to lose, but he was genuinely scared of the massive void that was going to be left when his friend was gone. “You shoulda told me this was gonna happen before I left RED! I quit 'cause I thought … Well, I dunno! But you shoulda said, dude!”

“I didn't _know_ , then! Not for certain.” There was a small pause, then Sniper continued, his rough tone softening a little. “All right. I should've said, but I didn't just bring you out here for my sake. I told you, mate. I wanted to get you out of RED altogether.”

Scout resumed struggling, but Sniper was surprisingly heavy and he could barely move.

“I didn't get a say in that! Sure, I said I wanted to come with ya, but I didn't realise you were stealin' me away 'cause of what happened to ya parents!”

The hands around his wrists tightened.

“It ain't about that. Not entirely. I can't ...” Another pause. “I just need ya to trust me on this one. C'mon, lad. You know I'm one of the good guys. Are you gonna calm down?”

Scout sniffed and groaned but then stilled, only because he really didn't have the energy to go on arguing, no matter how much he wanted to. Worse, he could hear the weariness in his friend's voice and he didn't know if it was because he was annoyed or if it was whatever was ailing his insides. Whatever the case, the kid could at least acknowledge by this point that losing his temper and throwing blame around wasn't going to change anything, no matter how much it pained him to admit it to himself.

When the weight on his back shifted, Scout didn't get up. He just remained prone on his front and folded his arms beneath his face. He heard a quiet sigh, and then footsteps. A small while later, there came a slight _thunk_ , and when Scout turned his head a little, he saw a mug of steaming hot chocolate had been placed by his head on the floor.

He wasn't sure why, but that made him feel worse than anything that had happened that day.

His now stuffy nose caused a headache to form behind his eyes when he reluctantly sat up. Sniper was again sat on the couch with his large hands clasped between his knees. He looked way too serious, so Scout just kept his head lowered and pulled the hot mug towards him.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No worries.” During the short silence that followed, Sniper scratched noisily at the stubble on his jaw. “I'm, well … Yeah, you're right, mate. I haven't gone about this in the best way. I'm not really used to considerin' someone else like I've gotta consider you. I failed me parents in that regard. Does that make any sense?”

“Nah, but … yeah. I'm just … man, I dunno.”

The conclusion to the argument was hardly a satisfying one. Scout didn't have the answers he needed, but he wasn't entirely sure about the questions, either. When a decent portion of his brain was simply intent on blocking out the inevitable, not a lot was making a whole lot of sense because all he wanted to focus on was the present, not the future, and certainly not the secrets it was evident his friend was trying dearly to hide. All he really wanted was for things to go back to how they were: carefree days in the sun, sharing beers and pizza and laughing at dumb things with the rest of the guys. Though he had wanted to go exploring the world, perhaps he resented Sniper just a little bit for humouring his flight-of-fancy. Even so, none of it would have ever really been the same with the Australian missing from the team.

He was about to force himself to apologise for losing his temper, but before he could, there came a suspiciously loud thud a couple of rooms away. The boy didn't think much of it, though when Sniper immediately reached under the couch and produced an old but fearsome looking shotgun, he sighed and took what was likely going to be his only sip of the hot chocolate. Damn, and it had those cool little marshmallows in it, too.

A deathly silence pervaded everything, though only for the shortest of moments. When there came a second, louder thud, then what sounded horribly like smashing glass, both Scout and Sniper leapt to their feet in a sudden panic.

“Snipes?” Scout managed, and then yelped when he felt himself being roughly pulled back towards the window. He watched blankly as Sniper shoved the window open with one arm, his gun trained on the doorway leading to the kitchen.

“There's a drainpipe to the left. Use it to climb onto the roof, 'cause you'll be safer out of the way. The master bedroom window is open. Grab our shit and throw it outside. Load it in the car and use the pistol in the dashboard to protect yaself if ya need to. Got it?”

When he heard loud, gruff voices shouting from near the kitchen, Scout immediately felt a rush of panic and grabbed the front of Sniper's shirt, staring up at him in alarm. They didn't have respawn, this time, and whoever the intruders were, they rather evidently weren't afraid to simply take whatever it was that they wanted. Before he had time to really contemplate what was happening, he was being forcefully turned and pushed towards the window hard enough that he was forced to balance on his gut to stop himself from colliding face-first with the ground outside.

The boy shook his head and reached for the drainpipe that was clinging onto the side of the red, wooden wall to his left. As if he'd allow himself to be a wuss for much longer. He was the RED Scout and he'd dealt with far worse than burglars or whoever the hell had just smashed their way into the house. In fact, he'd go and kick their asses if Sniper hadn't been so intent on getting him out of there, and he trusted the guy's judgement. Mission first, questions later.

The drainpipe was awfully slick with rain, enough that it was impossible to get a grip on it. He could, however, use it as leverage to aid him in climbing to the top of the window. By the time he was rather precariously balanced on top of the wooden frame, he was already a decent way up, but from there, there was nothing else to rely on but the drainpipe again, so Scout shoved his hands behind it and used the fixings to hoist himself up. The screws and plastic dug into his hands but he barely felt it, intent on getting himself up onto the roof and temporarily away from danger. With some relief, though, did he finally grab onto the tiled ledge of the roof and use the coarseness of the wood beneath his feet to push himself up.

Several gunshots cracked loudly from down below. Though his arms and legs were aching, Scout clambered over the sloped roof and tried to recall just where the master bedroom would be. Another gunshot startled him, and he slipped on the wet tiles and slid down them a short distance, saved only when he managed to shove his foot against the chimney column and give himself enough time to find some grip. Soaked to the skin as he was by this point, it was proving increasingly difficult to navigate or even move, and for a while he was simply stuck in that position, spread-eagled across the stupid tiles and desperate to prevent himself from sliding off and breaking both legs.

Another gunshot, and a tile far too close to his head exploded in a shower of red. _Shit shit shit -_

He lunged for his life. Slamming down on his front towards the other side of the roof, he allowed himself to slide down on his stomach. This was it, this had to be the right side or he was gonna be dead meat in a few short seconds. After managing a quick glance over the edge – fuck yeah! He spied an open window on the first floor, and so quickly turned himself so that he could reach down over the ledge with his leg and attempt to perch on the top of the window presented to him.

He felt the pain before he heard the shot. What felt like fire engulfed Scout's side, but he was in no position to allow himself to fall. Instead, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus so that he could drop down onto the windowsill. His heart skipped several beats when his first attempt to grab the wooden ledge with his hands failed because of the wet slickness of it, but with a wild wave of his arms, he barely saved himself and threw his form into the room before he could get shot at again.

Scout landed with a heavy thud on his side – his bad side, to boot, and he could do nothing but curl into a foetal position and work away the agony that exploded across his ribs. What felt like minutes later, he rolled over and inspected the damage. Aghast to find blood soaking his jumper, he pulled it up to find a deep wound embedded across the side of his midsection. The bullet, apparently, had only just avoided achieving a near fatal injury and skirted past him, but _damn_ did it ever hurt! Still, he could worry about that later. By escaping the downstairs situation, he had likely avoided the worst of whatever was happening down there.

There was the problem of whoever was shooting at him outside. Scout grabbed the two heavy packs that were leaning against the wall in the master bedroom and dragged them towards the window. Crouching beneath it, he allowed himself a short time to peer over the edge of the windowsill, and sure enough, he could just about make out a figure down below. As if in response, the glass of the window suddenly shattered over him as another shot was fired towards him. Despite the situation, Scout briefly acknowledged that the guy was either a lousy shot, or he wasn't actually shooting to kill, which was arguably a little more concerning. Who were these guys and what the hell did they want?

After brushing glass out of his hair, Scout dug into his pack and searched desperately for something that could help, but he had no weapons. Anything he had used when working for RED had belonged to the company. Meanwhile, Sniper's weapons were in a deposit vault in Adelaide because they were heavy and he thought it would be easier to leave them in the city for when they next travelled to the airport. Well, a lot of good that did. Without pausing to consider his options, Scout grabbed the heaviest of the two packs and then stood so that he could throw it out of the window. With some luck, it struck the huge guy outside straight on the head, hard enough to knock him roughly onto the ground skull-first.

The second pack followed suit. Scout reached outside and grabbed hold of the drainpipe again, this time to grip it with his hands and feet and slide down it until he was safe on the grass below. Without wasting time, he grabbed the two packs before his assailant could come to and ran around the side of the house until he reached the car parked out near the front.

With the two bags tossed haphazardly in the backseats, Scout clambered into the vehicle and slammed his hand down on the horn. Probably a mistake, but at this point, he didn't care, he just had to signal to Sniper that he was more than ready to get away from this place.

 

* * *

 

A car-horn blared from outside.

Miss Pauling turned to Sniper and raised an eyebrow in a fashion she thought was cool and cunning, but she didn't really have the face to be as frightening as the Administrator could be. Still, she could try, and at the very least, she finally had the guy cornered. The idiots she had brought with her had perished easily, unfortunately – two to Sniper and one to her (he'd just been so incompetent that she couldn't stand to watch it any longer).

Sniper's gun lay on the floor some metres away, him having been disarmed in her last ditch attempt to stop him from escaping. He'd tried to simply run past her, apparently unable to actually fire a shot in her direction. People _really_ had to stop underestimating her. Even so, the woman had suddenly found herself with a similar conundrum. There she was, gun in hand and her prey stapled to the wall of what was once his parents' home. She'd fired a warning shot, first, and felt oddly horrible upon seeing an awful franticness arise in the man's eyes. A second, more fatal shot was becoming strangely difficult to consider.

“You look shrammed,” Sniper said offhandedly, apparently sensing an opportunity. His tanned throat bobbed in a swallow. “There's a bath upstairs. You can use it.”

“Oh,” Miss Pauling managed, confused by his concern. It was true; she was freezing and sopping wet and had only just realised. “Uh, thanks, Sniper. Maybe later? Look, I'm sorry, but I've got to get this done. You know what the boss is like. You won't hold it against me, will you?”

The assassin smirked slightly. “'Course not, ma'am. I know how it is. I just never liked bein' on the wrong end of a gun. I mean, you were there last time that happened.”

Miss Pauling sighed. “Yes, I know, and I really do sympathise regarding _everything_ that happened. Don't think that I want to do this, Michael, but as you said … I never liked being on the wrong end of a gun, either.”

“Micky,” Sniper corrected, much to Pauling's surprise. “C'mon. Me and you went on a vision quest. Doncha remember? That knocked all the walls of formality outta the park. I never did get your name, though.”

It was the woman's turn to smile. “Nice try.” That small smile slowly fell, and she lifted her gun upon noting it had somehow ended up pointing at the floor. She cocked it and neared her newest victim, beginning to bite on her lower lip as she considered the fact that very few people had actually gotten in the way of her job before. This guy had quite the rep, and he was once a streamlined killer with his slick hair, immaculate sideburns, and absolute disregard for any kind of life. Now, it was like something had changed. Something small, perhaps, but something enough that he was actually trying to distract her and save his own life, because it meant saving somebody else's in the process.

She had seen it before. It was strange, she thought, that even a man who had trained himself to kill for a living could find that one person who totally dismantled a lifelong commitment to work and carnage. She certainly didn't understand how that one person could be _Scout_ , but it wasn't like many things made sense in this world any more.

“I know you don't get it,” Sniper attempted, and Miss Pauling's expression hardened slightly. Had her doubt been clear on her face? “Neither do I. I just wanna do right by him. The Administrator's got us blokes under her thumb, but he doesn't have to become like us. Not in his work, or … in his mind. 'Cause I saw it, y'know; I was in his head for days. All right, it was as awful as you'd expect, but we are the way we are 'cause life hasn't been kind to any of us, him included.”

“What on earth do you see in him?” Pauling asked incredulously, genuinely curious.

“That stupid kid? A bit of nothin' and everythin'. You ain't in no position to judge, y'know. I'm not the one workin' for that evil old hag. Not any more.”

Well, she certainly couldn't fault that logic.

One shot, and her mission would be over. She had always been so careful not to get attached to the mercenaries, because she knew everything that happened behind the scenes and she knew that few, if any, would actually escape their jobs alive. The Administrator displayed a certain possessiveness regarding them, because she knew that they were all stupid enough to continue obeying her, and skilled enough to continue doing a good job of it. There were those, however, who had let themselves in for more than they had bargained for and had become privy to some of the company's biggest secrets. Those were the ones who could be classified as dangerous, and one of them stood before Miss Pauling right now. All she had to do was shoot the guy.

But she couldn't.

It scared her slightly to see what he had become. The two of them had been peas in a pod, once, both dedicated to their work and they were _good_ at it. There was something new to the guy's eyes, however, a kind of softness that shouldn't have been there but was, and maybe that same softness was in hers too as she let him sidle past her without so much as a threat. Maybe knowing these men and foolishly spending time amongst them had been the biggest mistake of her life, but it sure was something difficult to regret.

“Oi, Paulin',” Sniper said as he paused by the door, turning to regard her. “You're a tougher nut to crack than Scout, but I don't think a lady like you should be bendin' over backwards every day for that witch. Great job tryin' to murder me and all, but maybe you could come with us, instead.”

Miss Pauling gaped at the man, her gun now hanging uselessly by her side. Surprisingly, a part of her was definitely tempted by his offer. She had never had much room for fun in her life, but those few times she had spared with the mercs had been great, killing mutant bread monsters and venturing into the mythical, sunken country of New Zealand. Maybe there was more where that came from on the other side. However, Sniper was soon to be no more and she certainly didn't want to be left on her own with Scout thanks to his inexplicable need to flirt endlessly with her despite her disinterest. Her work was all she _really_ knew, after all.

“I'm giving you a head start, Sniper,” the woman replied in a cool tone, pushing her glasses up her nose. “You're only really prolonging the inevitable, you know. I doubt you've told Scout anything in order to protect him, but I still have to be sure. He'll be interrogated, then reintroduced into RED. He doesn't belong anywhere else.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, wordlessly acknowledging their temporary impasse. Within the silence, Sniper nodded once and then glanced over the room for a final time before turning to leave, shutting the door behind him.

 


	3. The Grudge

Scout was too terrified to utter a word as they sped away from the ranch. Despite all the questions he had, Sniper was clearly enraged and probably wouldn't even acknowledge him for the time being. It provided a rather humorous image, at first, for the assassin was far too tall for the tiny car, and with his knees stuck somewhere behind the steering wheel, he was forced to hunch, his jaw clenched and eyes set fiercely on the road ahead. Scout knew better than to laugh, though he might have done were he not still feeling tumultuous following their argument.

The colourful lights of Adelaide approached through the darkness. They lit up the impossibly massive buildings, cork-screwing monorails, and giant, elaborate plinths boasting statues of affluent Australians. The largest of these depicted a kangaroo wearing a robe and crown, and the creature was holding aloft the shining continent of Australia with what could only be described as pride on her long face. Scout gazed up at it as they passed, finding the concept of a kangaroo queen more than a little weird, though having travelled a lot of countries by this point, he could recognise that all cultures had their weird little quirks. Admittedly, this one was stranger than most.

“So, we just gonna ignore the elephant in the room?” he said at last, finally growing impatient enough to break the silence. He folded his arms haughtily across his chest and gasped when the action pulled at the stinging wound on his side. It was only then that Sniper glanced over and appraised him with narrowed eyes, his gaze settling on the blood staining Scout's jumper.

“How bad is it?” he asked, ignoring the question.

“Hurts a lot, man. You gonna tell me what the hell that was back there? Did you kill those guys?”

Sniper turned his attention back to the road, his expression becoming somewhat blank.

“Yeah. Had no choice.”

Scout remained silent for a moment, waiting for his friend to continue with an explanation. When it became clear there was nothing forthcoming, a surge of anger made him slam a hand against the car door.

“Dude!” he snapped.

Sniper still didn't answer. Instead, he began steering with one hand and held one of his knuckles between his teeth in a display of sudden anxiety. His forehead creased and his skin was rapidly draining of colour. Maybe it was the fact he had just killed some guys without being paid for it – something which apparently went against his code of conduct. Maybe it was the fact they were being pursued by people who, for all Scout knew, wanted to kill them both. The boy was young but he wasn't necessarily stupid, and he could put two and two together. Thankfully, Sniper didn't try to insult his intelligence by spinning a tale, and Scout was pretty sure he would have socked him one if he'd tried.

“They're not tryin' to kill you,” the Australian said at last, the low rumble of his voice barely audible over the sound of the car's engine. “They want you back in RED. Despite it bein' our right not to renew our contracts, they only see us as defectors. They're not happy until they own your soul, y'know. I'm happy with my fate as it is, honestly. Better dyin' a slow and painful death than bein' caged under her watch -”

“Don't freakin' say that, man. If you thought that, ya wouldn't have brought me out here to spare me from it. There's _gotta_ me somethin' more behind this. Didn't ya mention something about doin' jobs for her on the side?”

“I did,” Sniper muttered, a deeply ominous and reluctant edge creeping into his voice. Scout was suddenly unnerved by his friend's behaviour, finding the expression on his face similar to that of a wounded puppy, and he didn't know what to make of it. There were few things that scared the older man, or so he thought, so the situation was potentially far more serious than was being let on. Why, then, was Scout being left in the dark? Did people think he was dumb enough not to appreciate the severity of a situation? Well – maybe he was, maybe he'd make light of it at the worst possible moments, but maybe he could help, too.

“Well, what did ya find out?” Scout pressed.

“Look, kid, if I could tell ya then you'd already know. If they find out you know anythin' then you'll be in the same boat that I am.”

“Yeah? Ya know, after all this, it sounds like I woulda been safer in RED, man,” he retorted, and found himself being met with an expression of shock.

“What?”

“You heard. This was meant to be the freakin' holiday of a lifetime! Yeah, it's been amazin' up ta'now, but now we're bein' chased by the Administrator's guys, I'm gonna get kidnapped, maybe if I'm lucky that'll be before I walk in on ya one mornin' and you're, like … dead. Yeah, none a'this woulda happened if I'd just stayed in RED and not got mixed up in your business.”

He looked away after that, though he did catch the briefest glimpse of Sniper's uncharacteristic look of dismay, and it hit harder than it perhaps should have. Scout was furious – and for once he thought, yeah, maybe he could justify his anger this time, but he realised that he was far more scared than he was seething. Sniper's mystery illness and this sudden turn of events was rather a lot to take in, and his friend was still choosing to be coy with his answers. When were people going to realise that Scout wasn't a kid anymore? Sure, maybe he acted like it, but he could be more of a help than a hindrance, if only he was given the chance.

“You weren't safer there,” Sniper attempted, and it was swiftly becoming apparent that his carefully maintained composure was threatening to crumble at any second. “I promise ya. I'm just tryin' to -”

“Nah! Jeez, this wasn't just gonna go away by vanishin' to some other countries for a while! Any idiot coulda seen that! What happens when I get back to Boston, man? I'm gonna go down the shop to get my Ma some milk and bam! I'm getting dragged into the back of some dodgy guy's car, and two days later there I am back at Twofort stealin' BLU's dumb briefcase. From what you've said, this ain't helpin' anything! It's just delayin' it! What am I gonna do when I get back, huh? Huh, Sniper?”

By that point, Scout had turned and was mere inches from his companion's face as he spoke at him, hands gesturing wildly. Again, he was met with silence, which only infuriated him further.

“I don't get it! If there's such bad stuff goin' on with the boss lady, then why'd you only try to get me outta there? Why didn't ya convince the other guys not to renew their contracts?”

“Scout, I can't -”

“Did you have somethin' against 'em? What made me special enough you had to pull me outta there, huh? I'm startin' to think you were just runnin' away and leavin' everyone else to deal with it like some freakin' coward!”

“That isn't -”

“Ya wanted to get me outta there for a reason, man, but _newsflash_ , there's seven other guys stuck over in the States with no idea what the hell's goin' on -”

Scout saw the violent outburst before it even came. He impacted solidly with the window as the car jolted, turning hard enough that it skidded and screeched a small way across the rain-slick road. Seconds later, they were speeding over the pavement and across a bumpy patch of grass towards a large, white building set aside from the others. A hospital, by the looks of it, and Sniper had avoided the clusterfuck of traffic barring the entrance to the parking lot by hightailing it across part of the tropical gardens outside.

When they were parked rather crookedly across two spaces, Sniper left the car and slammed the door behind him. Scout quickly followed out into the rain and watched as his friend found room to pace with a stiff, awkward gait, his fingers laced behind his head and wielding such a terribly distraught expression that Scout immediately wished he'd waited until they were both calmed down to say anything. On the other hand, he was certain that he deserved some answers.

“I was gonna bring ya with me regardless of whether you asked to come,” the assassin explained quickly, turning this way and that in a rare, agitated state. “I needed time! I knew they had it in for me and I needed time to get you away! Not because you're some special bloody snowflake, Scout, but because as friendly as ya are with some of the guys, _they're dangerous_. The Administrator's just gotta dangle some neat prize in front of some of them and boom, they'll unflinchingly pull the nastiest stints to get her what she wants. _We've seen it before!_ I'm equally as guilty! I can't tell ya some of the things I've done when we weren't workin', and some of the things the likes of Spy, Medic, Engie -”

“You're lyin',” the boy said immediately, hit with a hard and heavy pang of betrayal. He wasn't entirely sure why: any idiot could see that some of the guys were just born to get up to no good, but it all seemed rather a lot more serious than he'd first thought.

“I ain't!” Sniper snapped back. “D'ya think Medic and Engie built the machine that saved your life out of the goodness of their saintly hearts? No, it was built to protect the Administrator's property!”

Scout wrapped his arms around himself and took a step back, so heavily wounded with the information that it was beginning to physically hurt in his chest.

“Spy said ...” he paused, swallowing. “BLU Spy said they made it 'cause I was their Scout -”

“Exactly!” was the almost manic response, and the Australian's voice cracked with such unrestrained emotion that Scout felt like he was looking at an entirely different person. “Think about it! Tryin' to replace a skilled mercenary is bullshit, especially then tryin' to integrate them into a system cleverly enough that they become blind to the shadows lurkin' around every corner. I took you away 'cause you were the one bloke that woman hadn't gotten to, yet! You were the only one not locked around her crooked little pinkie finger and I had no intention of seein' you become like me and the others.” Sniper forced laughter and turned away, covering his eyes with his curled fists. “She's reduced me to nothin', gremlin. Her wars took my family from me. She took my craft and made me churn it out on demand like I'm just some freakin' robot. Now, I'm gonna die 'cause I turned around and said _no_.” The man pushed his hands into his dark, sodden hair and lowered himself to the ground, sitting on his ankles like he couldn't bear his own weight anymore. “Worst of all, she's made me scared. Few people have done that. I didn't want her to take the only thing I had left. I don't care if I'm a miserable excuse for the bloke I once was – I know that's the most pathetic thing to ever come outta my mouth, too – I don't care, all I want is for you to get a chance to see the world before you get dragged into a fight for your freedom, 'cause you might not get another chance.”

Scout gaped at his friend in disbelief.

_They did not have to, but you are their Scout, and you always will be._

It was a lie. They'd had to save him, because things had to return to normal.

He felt … dismantled. He thought the time the guys had banded together to save him had meant something. The world suddenly felt like empty air and he was floating in it, alone.

“Did they make you do it?” he asked quietly, drifting forwards to kneel down beside the older man. “Did they make ya go into the Machina thing to try and save me?”

Sniper slowly dropped onto his knees and clutched them with his hands.

“Yeah. By then, they were done with me. That car accident was meant to finish me off. They hadn't intended on you bein' in the van, too. It only made sense to put the guy on death row in ya head in case anythin' went wrong. But, Scout -” Sniper turned his body slightly and gripped the boy's arm, eyes widening slightly. “I would've done it – you know that. I would've done it either way.” His grip tightened. “You know that, right?”

Another pang of betrayal. Scout realised that his hands were shaking and his throat was constricting to an almost dangerous extent. He could hardly breathe, but didn't want to show it because his friend was equally as devastated with everything going on. That much he felt confident in.

“I don't get any of this,” the younger man admitted, his voice tight.

“Then let me lay it out,” Sniper muttered, his shoulders sagging. “The Administrator thinks ahead. She had plans for all of us, some of which are already partly executed. She had plans for you, too. I can't tell you what they were, but in all honesty, all of this so far? It's been worth the struggle. Don't let 'em force you back into RED, Scout. Even when I'm gone, don't let 'em. I've only managed to keep myself goin' this long 'cause I need ...” Again, his voice cracked. His hand moved to the front of Scout's jumper and gripped a wet handful of it tightly in his fist.

The boy was stunned to feel the assassin's face press into his shoulder. Still too numb to properly process both the new information and Sniper's crumbling resolve, he brought a hand onto the tousled hair tickling his chin and patted it. Then, 'cause it was what his Ma used to do whenever he was upset, he stroked it. Sniper's back shuddered, and Scout was really at a loss for what to do because he hadn't ever witnessed the guy shed a tear, even when the enemy Pyro burnt his leg off that one time, or when he found out his parents had died. Maybe that was it, though. Maybe he just had to get it all out this one time because he had never let himself do it, before. Scout could understand that; he was _always_ letting it out.

“It's okay,” he heard himself saying. Weirdly, it didn't sound like him, but it couldn't have been anybody else. The voice sounded way too old and distant. How was he meant to know if everything was okay? He was barely holding it together himself, but he had never been the consoler before, and shit definitely was serious if Sniper was actively seeking some sort of comfort.

“It ain't okay,” Sniper grumbled, his voice muffled in the material of Scout's sweater. “I'm not the smartest guy. I coulda handled everythin' far better. The Administrator's pursuit is so aggressive 'cause I pissed her off big time, mate, usually on purpose. I'm sorry for -”

“Look, big guy, you don't gotta apologise for _nothin'_. You told the Administrator to shove it up her ass! That takes some fuckin' meaty cajones. Let me admire ya, dude.” Scout gently pushed Sniper's head back and managed a grin. “Yeah, ya don't look like a badass right now but ya've been a total badass the past five years. I'll tell ya what I'm gonna do, kay? I'm gonna go back to the States and I'm gonna get whoever else I can outta RED. I know none of 'em deserve whatever she' got planned. It's gonna be the best freakin' rebellion against the man! You started this, and I'm gonna finish it for ya when you can't. That's what I wanna do next.”

Sniper's forehead creased. “Scout -”

“Nah, ain't gonna hear it, guy. I can't think about any of that right now, kay? Everythin' ya said you did wrong don't matter. All I can think about is that I really don't want ya to die.”

His grin swiftly fell as the words passed his lips, because saying it was the hardest thing that he had ever been forced to admit. He'd wanted to deny the inevitable but how could he, now? Sniper didn't look like the tough, unbreakable guy he used to be and it wasn't just because he was obviously stressed, it was because he wasn't feeling okay in other ways, too, and it showed. The Administrator had driven him to this and Scout wanted nothing more than to seek justice, because Sniper had grown to be far more than _just_ a friend.

He'd kind of made up for the fact Scout had never really had a male figure to connect with while he was growing up, because they all left or were just plain jerks. Blessings sometimes came from the strangest places, apparently, but it didn't make them worth any less.

“C'mon, don't be upset about that,” Sniper said. Suddenly, he sounded a whole lot more steady, and he was even smirking a little. “I'll always be around in some form, right? Like when ya see anythin' vaguely kangaroo-inspired and ya think of all the jokes you'd say to me. Or when you go get tacos like we did every Saturday with some of the blokes. Or, yeah, when you wear one of the jumpers I made. If you throw them out when I'm gone, you're gonna be dealin' with me in the afterlife, I promise ya that now.”

“I won't,” Scout promised thickly.

“All right. Now, this is all very touchin', but if it goes on any longer I'm gonna puke, mate. Help me up? Me leg's gone dead.”

Scout wiped his nose on his sleeve and stood, holding onto the older man's arms as he, too, pulled himself upright. Sniper glanced away and shook his head, his eyes red raw.

“Piss off and go get that wound checked out. I'll keep an eye out for any dodgy wankers with guns.”

The boy waited a moment, reluctant to leave the other guy alone after what had just happened at the house, and he also wanted to drag him into the hospital because it seemed like the right thing to do, but Sniper had fought for his freedom and so he'd have it for however long he had left. Being cooped up in a hospital bed definitely was not his style. It wasn't Scout's, either, come to think of it, but at least the damage caused by the shooting had been fairly minimal.

Even when they were on the road again, nothing from before was mentioned. Neither of them wanted to talk about it, evidently, and it was even more likely that the both of them were slightly embarrassed, but it wasn't like such a conversation could have been avoided. For now, the manner of coping was executed with long, drawn out silences and meaningless small-talk. As much as they both tried to ignore it, there was a shadow chasing them and neither knew what was on the other side.

 

* * *

 

Scout was eager to return to the States, but Sniper insisted on using the short time they had left to spend some time in other countries to make the most of their trip. Their next stop was Japan. The place was kind of similar to Australia in that it was very advanced in its technologies, though anything here seemed far more streamlined and clean, and most stuff actually talked, too, from vending machines to urinals, everything had a robotic voice offering its help. The people were so polite that Scout wasn't quite sure how to talk back to them, especially considering he had just come from Australia where one wrong look could lead to a broken neck, so he bowed as often as possible and hoped that would suffice.

Their hotel was something quick and cheap outside of the airport. It was a little run down and smelt pretty damp but they needed a rest before moving on. It was only later, when Scout was trying to find his toothbrush in his pack, that it quickly became apparent that the place was also haunted by the eldritch. He happened to glance upwards in an attempt to discover why his light was suddenly flickering, and saw a little boy sat upside-down on the ceiling, his skin deathly pale and eyes dark. With a yelp, Scout bound out of his room and surged down the corridor noisily.

“Sniper!”

The assassin appeared at the end of the dim, creepy corridor and pulled Scout into the utility room there.

“Oi, pillock, stop crashin' about or we're gonna get told to leave. Have you got any laundry?” Sniper turned back to the washing machine against the wall, giving it a kick when it lit up and asked if he wanted to purchase powder for an extra hundred yen.

“Yeah, but I ain't goin' back in my room! There's a freakin' ghost in there!”

“Oh, yeah. I had a ghost lady stood in the corner watchin' me for a while, then she vanished when you came in. They're harmless, mate. Go get your stuff, unless you wanna smell like a donkey's arse for the next few days.”

“Ah, jeez! I. Hate. _Ghosts!_ ”

Scout dashed back to his room and, covering his eyes with his arm, grabbed his entire pack and made off with it before anything out of the ordinary could happen. Unfortunately, when he entered the utility room and quickly slammed the door shut again, the lady ghost was back and watching Sniper fill the machine with a morbid curiosity. At least, it _looked_ like she was watching him. It was hard to tell through her thick curtain of black hair. Scout squeaked and bound behind Sniper, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him backwards, much to the Australian's surprise.

“Agh, geroff me, ya little whacko!” Sniper barked. “It's just a flippin' ghost! Watch this.” Wrestling himself out of the boy's hold, the assassin marched forwards, picked up the ghost as if she weighed nothing more than a feather, and plopped her back down into her corner. There she stayed, seemingly perplexed by what had just happened. “Stayed in a lot of dodgy places in my time. Seen a lot of ghosts. These ones are real beauts. Proper creepy.”

Scout blinked, then began unloading his clothes from his pack, keeping an eye on the ghost as he did.

“That was cool but you're a damn weirdo, man.”

He ended up spending the night in his friend's room with the excuse that his radiator was rattling too loudly – which it was, but there was every chance it was being caused by some invisible, malicious entity – and slept on the floor on his bedroll somewhere close to Sniper's bed. Well, tried to sleep, anyway, as every so often, the windows would shake, the door to the en suite would flap around, and something in the closet would sing old, Japanese lullabies. By the time it hit midnight, Scout was clambering into Sniper's bed and burying himself beneath the quilt. It didn't quite matter that the both of them were in nothing but their underpants; sharing space was of the utmost importance in stupid, haunted hotels.

Suddenly remembering something, he reached down to his pack and pulled a box from one of the side pockets before shaking Sniper's shoulder.

“Hey, you awake?”

“I am now,” Sniper grumbled, rolling to turn his back to the boy, and added in a groggy tone, “I told ya, that thing under the bed ain't gonna snatch ya.”

“ _What thing?_ ” Scout hissed, then sighed and reached around his friend to push the box into his palm. “Happy birthday, man.”

He was met with what sounded like a cross between a snore and a groan, and Sniper pushed himself upwards to sit cross-legged and stare at the box for a moment.

“I can't believe you remembered. Are ya finally askin' me to marry ya? I can't commend your choice of settin', really.”

Scout could see the guy's filthy grin even in the darkness. He grabbed a pillow and smacked the side of the assassin's head, guffawing.

“Yeah, yeah. Just open it.”

He'd been given the small charm in Tibet by one of the monks he'd met and shared tea with. It was old, supposedly, and made of real jade, a small dragon's head that had its origins in China. It was a symbol of good luck and had apparently been held by men who had succeeded in finding enlightenment, and so was thought to bring its bearer inner peace. Scout had tried to offer money for it, but the monk had declined, saying that he believed it was important to give the gift of peace to those in need.

Maybe the monk had known something he hadn't, because their journey had definitely been anything but peaceful, and now they had so much more looming over their heads. He could see Sniper holding the charm up and feeling it to try and make out what it was. Kneeling up, he moved behind him and untied the black cord around the Australian's neck that boasted a single, enormous crocodile tooth, then took the charm and slid it on with the small, golden hoop attached to it.

“It's a jade dragon, meant to bring good luck and inner peace or some shit. Look, I know ya don't believe in that kinda stuff, but the guys I got it from put a lotta value in it so it's gotta be worth somethin', right? You need it the most outta the two of us.” After tying the cord, Scout yawned and laid back down to try and sleep. He could sense that Sniper wasn't moving. Had he gotten too up close and personal? Feeling heat prickling his cheeks, he rolled over so that he was facing the other way, though it was difficult creating any kind of distance when they were sharing a single bed. Eventually, he felt Sniper shift and settle down again.

“Thank you, gremlin.”

The gratitude in the guy's tone was genuine, as far as Scout could tell, and he felt a surge of relief.

“Yeah, no worries. It's got stories behind it but no one knows what they are. Made me think of ya. That, and it's old as fuck.”

Sniper laughed his gravelly, indecent laugh.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after bidding a hurried farewell to the ghosts that had accumulated in their room overnight, the two got a bus to the nearest train station. Scout had no idea where they were going, but Sniper seemed to have a plan, and the boy was happy to let the guy lead the way. The assassin seemed to be in a far better mood, at least, compared to the day before, and he was wearing his hat and sunglasses which made him seem more himself. Scout certainly felt better wearing clean clothes, though he was feeling rather more anxious than suited him, checking over his shoulder on occasion. Sniper was more obvious about it, particularly when they were waiting for the next high-speed train out of there, leaning against a pole with his arms folded and glaring at everything that moved in his near vicinity.

The train pulled in within ten minutes of them being there. It's exterior shone like pearls and it was weirdly rounded, not like the grubby, square-ish trains in Boston, and when it moved it was near enough silent. Excited to get on and see the innards, Scout grabbed Sniper's arm and tugged him onboard. It was as expected. Pure white with flat screens along the tops of the windows displaying moving advertisements. Strangely, there weren't many seats at all. Instead, between the windows, there were rows of what looked like the things that came over people's heads on roller coasters and kept them in place. That was what distinguished the natives from the tourists as people joined them on the train: most buckled themselves into the safety devices offered, whereas others were too busy exploring the place to worry about that.

A voice sounded on the system – and then Scout felt himself being flung across the train carriage as the enormous vehicle entered high-speed in an impossibly short amount of time. He bounced along the carpeted floor and ended up becoming pinned to the opposite wall, quickly followed by all the other dumbasses who thought they wouldn't need the buckles to keep them in one place. Sniper ended up sprawled across his lap, and then they were near enough crushed by a wave of flowery shirts and sandals as all of the tourists were forced backwards. Scout tried to move but couldn't, for his limbs felt like they were weighted down with lead as the train travelled across the Japanese countryside at remarkable speeds, and he soon felt too sick to even continue trying.

When the journey was over some half an hour later, the boy dragged himself along the carpet and then allowed Sniper to pull him off the train by the hand, flopping onto the platform like a wet noodle.

“That was awesome,” he managed weakly, then grabbed his stomach and groaned as he was pulled onto the nearest bench. “Where the hell are we?”

“Kyoto,” Sniper answered gruffly, clearly unimpressed with the journey. “You'll like it. It's a big city.”

Indeed, the station was enormous and one of the busiest places that Scout had seen during their trip. Businessmen and women hurried to and from platforms as the rush hour approached an end, and, unlike Scout and Sniper, entirely unruffled despite their manner of travel. Somebody was busking not too far away, skilfully playing a shamisen, and there were a number of stalls set up along the station walls selling traditional snacks and filling the air with a pleasant, mouthwatering scent.

“ _Cool,_ ” Scout said with a smile, then winced as a sudden pain flared on his side. Quickly moving a hand to it, his shirt felt wet, and he realised that his wound was bleeding having landed on it whilst tumbling over the first five times on the train. The Australians had, in all fairness, offered to laser the wound shut, but Scout had less-than-politely declined when the doctor aimed some kind of high-tech cannon at him, so he was stuck with stitches instead.

“There's gotta be some first aid guys around here,” Sniper murmured, taking one glance at Scout's bloody shirt before standing and looking around.

“Uh … Yeah, can't you sort it? I really don't wanna get circumcised, man.”

The assassin snorted. “It's _cauterised_ , you flamin' dingo, and you'll have to bloody deal with it. C'mon, I think there's a place over there.”

Once they were both feeling rather less giddy, they made their way up to the first floor of the station, where there was a small place with a red cross on the sign above the doors. Apparently, accidents were fairly common in the station, as there was a queue to the front-desk mostly composed of mothers and their children. After ordering Scout to sit down in the waiting area, Sniper eventually reached the desk and gestured over to his companion after signing the appropriate form. Meanwhile, Scout was leaning back and watching as a group of men clad in what looked like black and purple armoured uniforms attempted to push a new delivery through the glass doors. Far more interesting, however, was what was written on the side of the box they were struggling to wheel through the narrow space:

_Deus ex Machina: Now 100% more invasive!_

Scout's heart leapt into his throat. Scrabbling to his feet, he met Sniper midway and wildly gestured at the box.

“Dude, look! It's Engie's machine!”

He hadn't quite expected his friend to slam a hand over his mouth and haul him off towards the corner of the room. With the amount of people that were present, it was easy to get lost between them and eventually make a beeline for the doors once the deliverymen were through it. Annoyed, Scout tried to pull Sniper's hand from his face but found that it was virtually melded on, even when the assassin pulled him onto the nearest escalator heading to the ground floor. It earned them some strange looks, so Scout jabbed a finger into his friend's side to signal that they were drawing attention.

“What the hell, man?” the boy hissed, glancing back towards the first floor, but Sniper pulled on his arm to force him to look ahead again.

“Stop lookin'. Those guys work for the Administrator.”

“Wha? How can ya tell?”

“That uniform. Those blokes weren't standard deliverymen.”

Confused, Scout simply allowed Sniper to lead him about the station. They quickly exchanged some cash, picked up an expensive first aid kit in the store, and then ventured upstairs to find a bathroom of some sort. They eventually came across what looked like a VIP area that was currently out of use. Sniper ducked under the velvet rope that was barring the way and swiftly broke the lock to the bathroom door with his shoulder. Nervously glancing around for a moment, Scout jogged forwards and into the room to discover it was rather more pleasant than expected. It was painted red and had a cosy seating area with leather couches and a low table with flowers on it. The sinks and toilet cubicles were immaculate.

The boy pulled off his shirt as Sniper worked on barring the door with a mop pole that had been sat in the near corner. Sitting on one of the couches, he grabbed the first aid kit and quickly set about cleaning the open wound on his side. It was hurting a hell of a lot more than it was earlier, especially when he dabbed disinfectant on and around it, and it looked gross, too.

“What happened?” he asked, moving an arm back to give his friend access to the wound when the guy sat down beside him.

“There was a chance they might've recognised us,” Sniper muttered, taking off his hat and pushing his glasses up into his hair. He snapped on a pair of white gloves and then picked up the small pair of scissors provided in the box. “I'm gonna pull the old stitches out. It's gonna hurt, mate.”

“Why were they deliverin' Engie's machine to that place?” Scout asked, partially out of curiosity and partially to distract himself from the oncoming pain. Once it started, it wasn't too bad, but enough to make his eyes begin to water, much to his dismay.

“I don't know. My guess is it's bein' dished out globally. Maybe some media outlet caught wind of it, and now everybody wants one. One thing's for sure, the Administrator's gonna be rollin' in it more than she already was, I tell ya that now.”

“Not Engie? Didn't he invent it with Medic's help?”

Sniper shook his head briefly. “Not Engie. He's under the Administrator's employment. I suppose that machine comes with the company's stamp. It was made usin' her resources, after all. Now, stop fidgetin'. You're lucky this thing ain't infected. Sorry we couldn't get a professional to do this.”

“It's cool,” Scout said with a wince, immediately stopping his attempt to lean as far away from the scissors as possible. “I prefer it when you do it. Ya've got them steady hands.”

“Yeah. Not so steady right now.” The Australian held up one hand to show that it was shaking. Regardless, once he was done pulling the thread out, he took his lighter and began running the length of a needle through the flame over and over until he was satisfied.

The entire process was agonising. Scout bit down on a finger and curled up in on himself in the corner of the couch, forcing Sniper to awkwardly lean over him. Still, the Aussie always did have a weirdly warm body, and so that, at least, provided some degree of comfort when Scout leaned back a little in an attempt to find something to brace himself against in response to the pain. Maybe he'd just soaked in all that solar energy in the Outback. Who knew? Or maybe it just felt nice because it was a presence that wasn't going to be around for much longer. He didn't want to think about it, especially after the past few trying days, but whenever they were alone and in a quiet space, or whenever Sniper did something _nice_ , he just couldn't help it.

“Hey, Snipes?” he began, trying to turn his head a little.

“Mm?”

“You're sure the _Machina_ thing can't save ya?” After a moment, he felt the older man's chest move in a quiet sigh.

“That thing is designed to force the brain to heal itself. The problem ain't in my head, gremlin – not yet. It could save my brain but I'd be stuck in a bed livin' off machines for the rest of my life. Maybe that's fine for some people, but not for me. Besides, I prefer havin' two feet set in the real world, not some imaginary cuckoo land.”

“I hear ya, but … doncha think it's kinda weird that place wasn't even a hospital and it got one? All they do all day is put bandaids on kids' knees. Why the hell would they need with somethin' like the _Machina_?"

Sniper cut the remaining thread and gave his companion a pat on the side. “Now, that's a question, Scoot. I'm sure you'll find out one day. Stand up and let's get a look at you.”

A little annoyed that the conversation was being dismissed, the boy pushed himself upright and moved his arm around several times to make sure the stitches wouldn't hurt and impede his movement too much. Surprisingly, it felt much better, especially when his friend cleaned it off a final time with cooling water. Once a small dressing was in place, Scout pulled on a fresh shirt from his pack and tossed the bloodstained one into the bin in the corner. Before Sniper could dislodge the mop pole from the door, Scout reached forwards and grabbed his arm to pause him.

“What, doncha want me to go in after ya when you're hangin' on by a thread? Like ya did for me?”

“That was different,” the assassin growled, but he didn't move, keeping his back to the boy. "You could get yaself killed."

“Well, ya've killed me plenty in the past, ya shit-tempered fuck. Why do ya care so much now?”

There came another, semi-awkward pause, but Scout didn't remove his hand from Sniper's arm. He wasn't quite sure why he was asking the question when it really was so obvious: they'd had the respawn back then, and death didn't have the same consequences it did in the real world. For some reason, he just yearned for confirmation from the guy himself. What he got instead perhaps only succeeded in confusing him all the more.

“A lot's changed since then.”


	4. The Contender

Miss Pauling sat on the edge of her bed, fiddling her hands and staring into space.

She'd gone into her job fully expecting it to be sometimes stressful, though at the time, she had never really known just what she was getting herself into. She thought she'd be doing a bit of admin and some PA work for somebody ominously known as the Administrator, the boss of a company then known as TF Industries. It wasn't until she was forced to take rigorous self-defence lessons and was trained how to use various weapons that she realised maybe there was a little more to the job than she had expected. She hadn't wanted to lie to the eighteen men that she supervised. She hadn't wanted to kill people who knew too much and bury their corpses in hidden caves. She never said no, though, because despite her faults, the Administrator was an incredible person.

Helen was utterly ruthless and so very clever and she was a _woman_ with a lot of influential power over the leaders of the world. How could a simple, young PA like Miss Pauling not look at her and just think – _wow?_ How many bodies did Helen have to bury to get where she was? She'd even had something to do with the military, a long time ago, though she never talked about it. She never talked about anything other than work. Pauling had made up her own theories, and it was only lately that she was beginning to think that the dumb things she had thought of to amuse herself were actually right. Maybe the Administrator really _was_ an evil mastermind hellbent on world domination. She was certainly ensuring that there was going to be nobody in the way to stop her.

There was nobody more loyal to that woman than Pauling. The young assistant had lost her mother very young, and while Helen was by no means a gentle woman capable of nurturing, it had been nice to have that firm, female presence in her life. Even if that presence was, well, fairly mercilessly evil and conniving.

And yet, Miss Pauling had not been able to pull that trigger.

She held up her communication device and selected her boss's name from the list, anxiously swallowing as the dialling symbol appeared on the small screen. She was answered almost immediately and met with the image of the Administrator sat with her legs folded and fingers steepled. She was in the control room, given that the space was just about lit with the light of the various monitors in front of her, one of which Pauling was occupying.

“You have been ignoring my calls,” Helen said slowly. For a moment, her gaunt face was illuminated as she struck a match to hold to the cigarette between her lips. “Well? Do you have the boy?”

“Um ...” Pauling managed, biting her lower lip. “Well, no, ma'am. I'm sorry, but they managed to escape. It was a big space and Sniper knew it better than I did, so -”

“ _Silence._ ”

The boss was one of those people who displayed the worst of her anger through terrible, prolonged silences. They sat gazing at each other for a maximum of thirty seconds, though it felt more like a lifetime to Pauling, who was growing more and more antsy as time went on. She was too good at her job to get the silent treatment! She could count on one hand the amount of times she had made the woman this angry, and they were all when she first started the job and was still learning the ropes. This time, however, she could sense that there was a lot more at stake.

“Nobody escapes you,” the Administrator said eventually, and took a long, hard drag from her cigarette, eyes still fixed on the screen. Her tone was cool and calculated, and Pauling knew immediately that she was busted. Not much got past evil geniuses, evidently – or maybe the assistant was just making it too obvious. She straightened her back and altered her expression into something far less guilt-ridden.

“Ma'am, I still think the RED Sniper could be a valuable asset -”

“Oh, so it was that you couldn't kill him! How ... _sweet_. Might I remind you, girl, that you don't work to make friends. You work to assist me and to clean up the _mess_ that is left behind as a result. I can only assume that you let the both of them go and _failed_ me because something somehow makes them different from all the other men that I have ordered you to kill?”

“They are different!” Pauling said quickly in response, then offered an apologetic look in case she was coming across as argumentative. “Ma'am, they were all picked because they were the best and also the most idiotic out of everyone. That Sniper was … well, he was angry, and I admit he's always had issues with authority, but -”

“I don't want wild wolves, Miss Pauling,” the Administrator hissed. She stood up, probably not realising that it caused her head to go out of frame, but she was just as intimidating, regardless. “I want _pet dogs_. That idiot Australian made a threat against my life when he discovered the Project trials were underway. I thought that alone would earn a quick and efficient kill from you, but clearly I underestimated your incompetence!”

The younger woman also stood, wounded by her superior's harsh words but knowing that she fully deserved them. She began to pace, stroking her chin thoughtfully.

“Then he could be the first to undergo the Repurposing. I know we've had … well, issues with him, but he _is_ the best sniper in the world and I'm certain he can be put to good use -”

“It was the RED Scout who was meant to be the first – who you _also_ allowed to escape, you idiot girl! Where are you, now? Where are those men I gave you?”

“Er, Japan, and those men, well … they're dead. I buried them outside Sniper's house,” Miss Pauling said meekly, offering the tiniest of smiles. She'd thought about lying but what was the point? She was likely already dead meat at this point for letting the two mercs go. Still, she couldn't bring herself to _entirely_ regret her decision, even when the Administrator was approaching the screen and the monitors were flushing the shadows away from her withered, bitter expression.

“There's a Contender in Japan. I will send you the details on your device. Contact her and give her the job if you are too _soft_ to do it yourself. Once you have the boy, meet me halfway in Europe. I will call you again the day after tomorrow and we shall discuss further details. I expect good news, Miss Pauling.”

The screen on Pauling's device turned black before returning to the home screen. Sure enough, seconds later, it beeped and a message containing contact details for the mysterious woman mentioned came through. _A Contender._ She had never actually met one of them, before. The Project was so secret that even she wasn't privy to most of the details, and she suspected that Sniper had unwittingly learnt a whole lot more about it the day he had been sent to kill one of them for defecting. The Administrator had - perhaps underestimating the men under her watch - not accounted for that possibility. Whatever Sniper had learnt or done had apparently been the cherry on the cake for him, and he suddenly became far from cooperative.

She paced around her hotel room for some time, trying to calm herself and arrange her conflicted thoughts into some kind of order, but it was difficult. She was meant to trust the Administrator unquestioningly. It had been a mistake, then, to have spent time among the mercenaries, because when she saw bad things happening to them as a result of the company's dubious shenanigans, it often pained her. Bad things happened to them a lot and now everything was approaching a climax that was sure to be devastating for everybody involved if allowed to continue with little obstruction. _But it wasn't her job to care._

She grabbed her communication device and stabbed in some numbers with her thumb. When answered, Miss Pauling adopted a deep, cool tone to try and sound important.

“Contender Yona?” she asked, just to make sure.

“Yes.”

“I'm Miss Pauling, the Administrator's assistant. She's got a job for you. The RED Sniper and Scout -”

“Kill them. Okay.”

“No! I mean – yes, but just the older guy. Keep the kid alive. How do you know …? Actually, uh, never mind that. Call me when it's done?”

The line stayed silent for a moment, then it clicked as the lady on the other end hung up without so much as a farewell. Pauling bristled somewhat. Why was it that these mysterious people that the Administrator suddenly favoured seemed to know far more than her? Was she not trustworthy enough to be spared details about the Project? She could find out more if she wanted to, but she'd need to be on a base to dig into the system files, and she'd need to be more of a nosy person to actually go through with it. Helen trusted her – just apparently not with the sensitive details of whatever she had started dabbling in lately.

Worse than that, she'd just personally ordered an execution and kidnapping. If she hadn't done it, the Administrator would quickly find out and then all hell would break loose. Miss Pauling would be no good to the guys tied up in the back of a van. Despite that, she couldn't just sit back and hope for the best, for though it was her job to be as callous as the woman who oversaw her operations, an enormous part of her didn't want to see any of her guys die. Not again.

She slowly began typing another number into the phone. Holding it up to her ear, she silently prayed for an answer.

“'What the hell do ye _want_ , ya slimy, gibberin' little -” came the heavily accented drawl on the other end.

“Demoman? It's Pauling. I'm sure you're trying to sleep, but this is important.”

“Oh, aye, sorry, the Spy keeps callin' me and playin' The Sound of Silence over the phone. I cannae stand it!”

The woman sat back on the edge of her bed and moved her forehead into her hand, closing her eyes in exasperation.

“How're things over there?”

“Oh, only boring as absolute bloody fook. When the hell are the battles gonna start again? I'm not allowed to make me bombs, ma'am, I need t'do somethin' with me hands and I haven't even got the will to pick up a bottle o' scrumpy! Did ya get a hold of Scooty and the beanpole?”

“Demo, I need to ask you a favour. This is really important, okay? Like, really, _really_ important.” She paused, biting her lip, and then clenched her fists, wondering what the hell she was doing. Talking about higher-level business with the mercenaries was something that the Administrator had explicitly forbidden her to do. However, like before, Miss Pauling wanted to give Scout and Sniper a window of escape. In the small chance they survived what was coming, they would need all the help they could get trying to avoid being captured again.

“There's something I need to tell you about the people you're working for, and you're not going to like it.”

 

* * *

  

Scout and Sniper sat side by side, cross legged in front of a sleek chabudai, glancing at each other every so often as the lady on the other side used well-practiced, fluid movements to prepare bowls and tea over the small stove built into the floor. Scout, rather enamoured with the geishas he had encountered in the Gion district, allowed himself to be sweetly coerced into buying some sort of service. Seeing as it was still Sniper's birthday and he'd thought the service would involve some sort of dancing and removing of clothes, he'd happily agreed, only to find out later from Sniper that he'd bought a tea ceremony – and that he was, in the Australian's own words, an uncultured rat without an ounce of respect. Well, how the hell was he supposed to know? Obviously he'd caught the wrong end of the stick at some point, and now here they were, watching an elegant young lady make a goopy looking tea from some green powder. Well, it was better than nothing.

Quickly growing bored, Scout glanced around the small room they had been taken to. It was at the back of the larger establishment and shielded from view by some of those cool sliding doors. It was peaceful, warm, and smelt strongly of pleasant, natural scents, eliciting a sleepy atmosphere that had his head dropping on occasion. Everywhere he looked, there was some kind of decoration: scrolls, flowers, paintings. Below two crossed, enormous naginata was an old painting of somebody who looked like a warrior, small and lithe in form.

“Hey, uh ...” he began, leaning forwards a little to try and catch the geisha's attention. “So is this your tea room?”

“It is used by many of us,” the lady said with a small smile. Her countenance was extremely pleasant, daubed with white and red makeup, and her elaborate headpiece allowed a cascade of pink petals to frame her face. “Have you been to Gion before?”

“Nah. It's been good, though. We went to, uh, Kodi-jai Temple -”

“Oh,” the geisha said suddenly, and then she laughed lightly. “Kodai-ji Temple. Yes, lovely.”

Scout felt himself flushing a hot and vibrant red when he was corrected. Reaching down, he subtly pinched Sniper's thigh when he heard him fail to withhold a snort. Feeling a revenge-jab in his side, he thumped the other man's leg with his fist, all the while attempting to maintain polite eye-contact with their hostess.

“Yeah, yeah, it was real pretty, though everythin' got a whole lot prettier when we ventured into Gion. Y'know, just thought I'd treat my pal seein' as it's his birthday today, I mean, I'm a rich-as-hell businessman and he's the guy who cleans the toilets in my office building. Gotta get outta those cubicles every once in a while, right, bud?” Scout dropped a hand down on Sniper's shoulder. The older man did not look impressed.

The geisha laughed demurely, continuing on with what she was doing, though she chanced a glance at the assassin.

“I am not sure about that. You have lived your life in the sunlight. I can tell.” After pouring two bowls of the soupy tea, she placed them down and then put one of her small hands on top of Sniper's, moving her fingers as if she was feeling the skin there. “You do not have the hands of a man who cleans for a living.”

It was Sniper's turn to flush, though he did it rather more inconspicuously, fortunate in that only his neck and ears were usually affected. However, he didn't resort to his usual trick of looking away and forcing a stony expression, and instead moved his hand away and fixed the lady with an odd stare.

“Er, yeah. Yeah, that's right, I look after his garden, too. Gets hot in the States. Isn't that right, Mister _Boghead_?”

Scout briefly narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Yeah. Real hot.” He then subtly jerked his head towards the woman, trying to indicate that he'd found her first and even if it was hard to tell how old she was beneath her make-up, he hadn't spoken to an attractive girl like her in what felt like years. Sniper, however, wasn't looking at him, still gazing at the elegant lady as if trying to read her thoughts, and Scout noted the sudden rise of tension in the air. He was almost tempted to tell them to get a room, but his friend's behaviour was making him curious enough that he managed not to say anything.

“You speak real good English,” Sniper remarked.

“I studied in London,” the geisha answered, and then she gestured towards the two bowls of tea. “You should drink.”

“Waitin' for it to cool,” the assassin said quickly, chancing a glance in Scout's direction before turning back. “Besides, we didn't come for the tea.” Reaching forwards, he awkwardly slid his hand over hers and turned it over to look at her palm. “Beg ya pardon if it sounds rude, but you ain't got the hands of somebody who makes tea for a livin'.”

Sure enough, the lady's small hands were dotted with blisters and the pads of her fingers seemed hardened with callouses. Scout could see them from where he was sat. Still, he managed to make no effort to speak or even move, wondering what the hell his companion was doing. Was this what it looked like when Australians flirted with people? Was there even such a concept? Saxton Hale's boisterous and violent character had since convinced him that Australia was a land of bridal kidnapping.

“I play the shamisen. Badly, I admit, but ...” the geisha murmured with a slight smile. There was a hardness to her eyes, now, a determination that could have been easily mistaken for something close to attraction. The longer the two interacted, the more it was slowly becoming apparent to the younger observer that there was something more to the way they were looking at each other, something unspoken in the atmosphere that made him feel thoroughly uncomfortable.

To Scout's surprise, Sniper fixed the woman with a warm stare and slowly raised her hand to his face to gingerly inspect it. He said nothing, taking a moment to apparently inhale the perfume on her wrist. The lady watched with wide eyes and was eventually able to retrieve her hand, holding it firmly in her lap as she bowed, red lips pressed firmly shut.

Scout picked his bowl up and moved it to his mouth to try and dissipate some of the awkwardness, but he was quickly halted as Sniper suddenly grabbed his arm and forced it downwards. The boy chose not to argue, however, as it was becoming more and more clear that his friend was up to something. After all, it wasn't like him to attempt to flirt with girls, and what Scout had thought had been an inviting expression was something clearly feigned. That slight sizzling that had occurred for a short moment between the pair perhaps was not attraction but something else entirely. He knew the guy well enough to know when he was being genuine or not. As for the geisha, that sweet and pleasant demeanour was suddenly replaced with something almost accusatory, her fingers twitching as she stared at Sniper.

“You've got the hands of a lady who's just started usin' a knife for a living,” the assassin said. It almost sounded like he was commending her, but behind that façade was straight up venom. “Lemon peel is good for callouses, y'know, and it would also help hide the smell of hemlock on your hands. Is this your first time?”

The tension in the air was suddenly palpable as the geisha narrowed her eyes and scowled. Scout stared in surprise, typically oblivious.

“That was fast,” the woman said, reluctantly inclining her head.

“I know Spies pretty well. It's a shame you don't know your Snipers. Well, luckily for you, I'm the best there is. Want me to show ya a thing or two?”

A _Spy?_ Scout had the sudden thought that the woman in front of him was actually a dude wearing one of those masks that shrouded the entire body in illusion, and then he had the second, more gut-crunching thought that she was actually the BLU Spy in disguise, sent by the Administrator to do what the guys in Australia had failed to achieve. He gathered from their conversation, however, that this person was something of a newbie, meaning she couldn't be either of the Spies from RED or BLU, unless Sniper was trying to goad them. Whatever the case was, the boy put down his bowl of tea and remained on edge, unsure what to do or even what to make of the situation. Everything he had witnessed minutes before suddenly made sense – the tension, Sniper's predatory behaviour, and the fact it had taken the guy all of about five minutes to sniff out a Spy. _Literally_. Scout had no idea what hemlock was but he didn't doubt that he'd be writhing on the floor by this point if he had decided to drink any of the 'tea' the lady had kindly made.

The geisha reached up to her hair and unpinned it, allowing the dark tresses to tumble over her shoulders. She then stood, not much taller than Miss Pauling, and took a silent step backwards towards the wall, taking hold of one of the naginata. The pole was old and made out of carved wood. The blade was half the size but still huge. Scout quickly grabbed Sniper's shoulder and tried to urge him upwards.

“Dude, she's a freakin' samurai! We've gotta go!”

“You don't know what a geisha is but you know about bloody samurai?” Sniper muttered incredulously, slowly standing and using an arm to hold the younger man behind him.

The woman had unhooked the weapon from the wall and was slowly approaching the pair with slow, calculated steps. Her bare feet likely provided an advantage, but Scout could see the restrictive and heavy nature of her decorative attire did not. Her black kimono was fitted closely to her thighs and her thick obi was gathered at her back in a way sure to offset her balance at some point. Still, he was currently stuck, for if he made any sudden movements then she would respond with a lunge and swing of her naginata. He didn't exactly fancy being cut clean in half.

“C'mon, lady. It's his birthday! Cut us some slack, will ya?” he insisted from behind Sniper's arm. Holding onto the taller man's waist, he attempted to slowly pull him backwards. “We just wanna holiday without gettin' treated like freakin' target dummies all the time!”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you became _defectors!_ ” the woman suddenly shouted, her malicious grin a stark change to the small, sweet smiles from before. Oh, yeah, she was a Spy all right. She swung her weapon with lightning speed and it was by the skin of their teeth that the two men managed to duck and avoid it, though Scout was fairly certain she had just lopped off a chunk of his neatly groomed hair. “I thought you idiots would be dispatched easily. Now I can see why _you_ became the mercenaries. Still, there is nothing like putting a man in an early grave.”

Scout knew he had no time to consider what the hell the samurai-geisha-lady was talking about. Instead, he felt around Sniper's waist to try and find any possible weapons concealed in his belt, but he didn't even find the guy's trademark kukri.

“I'm a professional, mate. I ain't gonna bring a gun to a place with ladies!” Sniper insisted, backing away from a second attack. This resulted in the two men becoming pinned against the wall, but the assassin reached behind him and grabbed a pair of enormous fans that had previously performed as decoration. It took him a moment to figure them out, but when a third swing came their way, he managed to halt it by catching it between the fans and forcing the naginata away firmly enough that the geisha stumbled on the bottom of her kimono. Sniper looked down at his new weapons as if he hadn't actually expected the trick to work.

Taking the moment of distraction as an opportunity, Scout dashed towards the other side of the room and grabbed the second spear off the wall. It was way heavier than it looked and so his first attempt at striking the woman was poorly aimed, resulting in her gracefully leaping over the blade with ease. What he did succeed in, apparently, was angering her enough that she immediately headed straight for him before he could even lift his weapon again.

“No you fucking don't,” Sniper snarled. He appeared behind the geisha in the nick of time and wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. However, the woman immediately threw her upper half downwards, and in an amazing show of strength, hauled her much taller opponent's bulk straight over her head and slammed him down onto the chabudai hard enough to break it. With a peal of laughter, she kicked the pot of boiling water from the stove and over Sniper's arm.

His friend's rough howl of pain immediately sent Scout into overdrive. His weapon suddenly wasn't so heavy and his desire not to harm her because she was a lady swiftly vanished. Using his speed to his advantage, he charged and smashed the butt-end of his spear into her gut and sent her flying to the wooden floor, but like some kind of cat, she landed on all fours and propelled herself into another lunge, this time without her weapon.

Scout backed away, but had little need. A closed fan soared through the air and the handle impacted the woman's temple with a hard, painful _thunk._ She stopped, went cross-eyed, then crumpled down onto her front without so much as a sigh.

The boy stood shock still for a moment with his naginata held closely to his chest. Tentatively, he reached down with the pole and nudged the woman's arm, but she didn't respond.

“Shit, man. Is she dead?” he whispered, unable to move.

Sniper dragged himself over and checked her wrist for a pulse. “Nah. She'll be right.” He rolled onto his back and grimaced, arm held tightly to his chest. “ _Bloody Spies._ ”

After pulling over a rug and arranging it beneath the woman's head in perhaps a misguided attempt to make her more comfortable, Scout grabbed onto Sniper's good arm and attempted to pull him upright. The assassin was rather stiff thanks to his heavy landing, but he didn't object as he was quickly led over to one of the sliding doors. Scout opened it a little way and leaned out into the corridor, making sure that nobody was looking, then gestured towards the open window opposite.

“We've gotta make a run for it. You ready?”

Without waiting for a response, the younger man dashed to the window and vaulted silently out of it, landing easily on the grass outside. Sniper's escape wasn't quite so graceful, though still admirably quick – he was probably used to clambering around in tight spaces to get to the hidden spots best for sniping in. Once they were both out of the building, Scout led them around the back, through some small trees, and then into the streets of Gion. It was nighttime and, thankfully, very busy, so it was easy to get lost in the crowds of wealthy patrons flocking to the establishments and restaurants.

He stopped running around then to avoid looking suspicious. Awkwardly trying to dodge people in the narrow, bustling street, he pulled up to an open unit outside of a restaurant and quickly ordered something to take away. No doubt they wouldn't be able to stay in Gion that night, and they'd need some food to keep them going as the travelled through the night. Waiting impatiently for their food to arrive, Scout turned to Sniper, who was leaning against the wall to one side quietly. His forearm was the colour of a tomato from where it had been scalded by the supposed Spy. Worse, blood had drained from his face to leave him white as a sheet, and the younger man could tell that he was doing his best to stop himself from keeling over.

“Hey, the hotel's like five minutes away. You gonna make it?” he asked encouragingly. His heart began beating furiously in his chest, both out of fear they would get caught by more Spies and because his friend was suddenly taking a downward turn. When Sniper didn't respond, Scout's face fell in concern. “Dude, what's wrong? Did she do somethin' to ya?”

It took a moment, but Sniper managed to steady himself. With a despondent glance towards Scout, he pushed himself away from the wall and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

“I'll make a head start. See ya there.”

Reluctantly allowing the guy to shamble away, Scout turned and waited impatiently for the food to turn up, rapping his fingers on the side of the counter as he watched the chefs at work. It looked like they really weren't going to get the chance to enjoy themselves anymore, as the Administrator's people had finally locked onto them and were mercilessly pursuing them wherever they went. He was deeply confused by the idea of other Spies outside of RED and BLU, most of all, having formerly only been aware of the two French chain-smokers he used to encounter on a daily basis. Were there other Scouts, too? Why had they bothered saving his life before if there were others who could easily replace him? Or were these mysterious mercenaries meant for other purposes? The worst part was that he knew the answers were being kept from him. There was a _lot_ being kept from him. Who the hell was he meant to trust when just about anybody could be a rogue mercenary sent to kidnap him?

Two bags of food were eventually plopped down on the unit. Grabbing them, Scout made off towards the swanky hotel they had booked for a night, though he didn't succumb to the temptation to run. Sniper obviously needed space for whatever reason, as he often did, so when the boy reached the square outside of the hotel, he sat on a bench and devoured the noodles and pork balls he had bought, watching everybody who passed warily. By the end, he felt pretty sick due to nerves and sat back for a while, growing increasingly angry because there was no way he should have been putting up with all the shit going on. Sniper was more than aware of that, he knew, but he still didn't have the decency to tell Scout just why they had almost been simultaneously poisoned and turned into kebabs by a geisha, of all things. Maybe some guys would pay for that kind of stuff, but Scout couldn't even stand the thought of kebabs. Tacos were where it was at.

Quickly coming to hate the feeling of being alone, Scout stood and found the nearest bin to put his rubbish into. On the way, a small lady who was obviously not paying attention to her surroundings bumped into his shoulder. She quickly apologised and scooted past him, and it took him a moment to put a name to that voice.

“Miss Paulin'?” he said quickly, retracing his steps. Sure enough, the woman was wearing a purple shirt and skirt, black tights, and her dark hair was pinned into a bun. She turned and an expression of sudden alarm crossed her pointed face. He felt a remarkable amount of joy upon recognising her – then confusion, then a dire realisation, because there was probably only one reason why she was in Kyoto at exactly the same time as them. Cautious, Scout didn't attempt to impress her with the size of his biceps, nor even make any sort of move to greet her.

“Scout? I was just making sure … I'm -” Miss Pauling tugged on her collar and backed away a little. “Look, pretend you didn't see me here, okay? How's, er … How's Sniper?”

“Getting worse,” the man responded, and there was a sharp, captious tone to his voice. “Yeah. Also, he just sniffed out a Spy that convinced us to go into her tea room. Kinda weird there's Spies out here, right?”

“He told you?” the assistant asked quickly. “We were going to get your permission before we did anything to you, you know -”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

The woman, apparently realising she had just made a mistake, quickly pulled what looked like a watch out of her pocket. It was similar in design to the Spy's cloaking device. Desperate not to let her get away without giving him more information, Scout darted forwards and tried to land a hand on her shoulder, but she took another step away and then vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Miss Paulin', _please,_ ” he begged, uselessly swiping at the air for a moment. “Please, I dunno what's goin' on or what to do!”

There was silence for a moment, and then, “You're not alone, Scout.”

 


	5. Crossing the Line

Rolling over with a grunt, Scout pulled a rock out from underneath his side and attempted to resume sleeping. Minutes later, he began to consider why there had been a rock beneath him in the first place and why it was so freaking _cold._ He quickly sat up and wrapped his arms around himself, drinking in his surroundings.

It was nighttime – and somehow he had ended up outside. In the middle of nowhere. Well, it wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened, but the kid couldn't force himself to stay calm. Had he been kidnapped and dumped out in the middle some craggy valley? If that was the case, then where was Sniper?

The grey cliffs either side of him were so tall that they just seemed to engulf him. Enormous rocks cast their eerie shadows along the floor of the narrow, winding valley. Every so often, these rocks would break away from the walls of the cliffs and come cascading down to smash on the hard ground below. Alarmed, Scout quickly looked upwards to make sure he wasn't in direct line of the crumbling stones, then darted out into the centre of the valley regardless, covering his head with his hands.

A crack of thunder overhead. The skies were a dismal grey, and the dark clouds were in the strangest formation Scout had ever seen. They were spiralling away from a central point like water slowly swirling down a drain, only _backwards_ , and between the cracks … light? But the moon was there, too, always in sight as if it was _within_ the Earth's atmosphere. Was this some kind of messed up nightmare? Were giant bugs going to come crawling out of the ground to devour him? Was he going to wake up drenched in sweat and hoping like hell that somebody else was going to be there to reassure him?

Was it not a nightmare at all, but … something else? The bizarre nature of the environment seemed all too familiar. In which case …

All of a sudden, a cascade of pink petals brushed past his face, driven by the wind. They provided the only colour in this strange place, so it was easy to focus on them as they swirled and soared down the valley. Knowing that the smallest things could be important in a place like this, Scout immediately turned and followed them. He entered a sprint and sped along the ground, leaping over falling boulders and the creepy, stone formations he came across every so often. The sound of his feet slamming against rock echoed between the walls. Aside from the occasional _crack_ of thunder, his own feet and breath was all that he could hear.

Eventually, once his pace had slowed and his breathing was laboured, he came across a small pool of dark water set amongst jagged stones. The pink petals had since landed in the water and were floating innocently on its cool surface, jarring the perfect reflection of the moon every so often. Within the centre of the pool was a pretty pink flower, growing there all on its own, the lonely sway of its head inspiring a strange feeling of sadness within Scout.

“It ain't gonna be like this forever, kid,” came a familiar voice.

Scout quickly turned and was relieved to see Sniper approaching out of nowhere. His first instinct was to question it, but why? He already knew the answer. The imaginary world of the _Deus ex Machina_ chose when it made sense. Most of the time, it didn't seem to enjoy making sense at all.

“What?” he questioned.

“That flower is a lotus,” Sniper responded, apparently ignoring him. “They grow in Queensland. This place – I came here when I was a kid, but now it just looks like it's had all the life sucked right out of it. Anyways, I was on some stupid field trip to Brisbane when I was nine and I ended up down here. I got a broken leg and wrist and I was just stuck.”

“Jeez,” Scout replied, eyes wide with surprise.

“I didn't even bother callin' for help. I didn't want to. Thought it was better if I was just stuck here until the heat got me, or a snake or spider.” The assassin moved to stand by the edge of the pool before lowering himself down onto the balls of his feet. “I found this single lotus here. Not sure why, but it seemed significant at the time 'cause it was there all alone but it was still ... well, alive. My mum once told me a lotus plant can live for hundreds of years. Maybe this one had been alone all that time, but it was still there and flourishin'.”

It was getting so cold by that point that Scout could see his breath. All he was wearing was a T-shirt, and the chill bit at his bare skin, forcing him to tightly wrap his arms around himself and huddle down next to his friend. He'd expected the Australian, of all people, to have his mind manifested by a place of extreme heat, though while it seemed this place was on the outskirts of the Outback, it was like sitting in a freezer room. His teeth noisily chattering, Scout reached out and gripped Sniper's forearm, expecting warmth, but found it oddly cool and clammy to the touch.

“I realised I was better off on me own. Never tried to make friends in school, so I never learnt how to really connect with people. Me parents were all I had. Didn't ever have a proper partner, either, just ended up foolin' around with people whose names I didn't know, and that was once in a blue moon, right? 'Cause even when I was grown up, people looked at me like I was some kinda alien. At some point, I just stopped carin'. Never did gain a true sense of empathy. I guess that's why assassinatin' wankers came so easy.”

“All right. So that's why ya s-such an a-asshole,” the boy managed, offering a smirk that would be coy in nature if his mouth wasn't shaking. Sniper grunted in response, the corner of his lips curling in faint amusement.

“Sure. My dad always wanted me to be a doctor. Can you imagine it?” he scoffed. “Could've done it, I was a smart enough kid, believe it or not. Ditched any academic prospects 'cause there was no way I was gonna be helpin' the drongos who made my life a misery. Nah, I'd be shootin' their brains out the back of their heads when I got paid enough. Now that was much more satisfyin'. I spent my life in the bush, just … waitin'. Waitin' for my targets to come along and, yeah, somethin' else, I 'spose.”

Scout subconsciously moved a hand to the stitched wound on his side that Sniper had expertly mended – only to find that it was no longer there. For now, leastways, but it still served to remind him how different things could have been, and not necessarily in a good way. Had the two of them – no, _all_ of the mercs – experienced a different upbringing, different circumstances, then there was every chance that they never would have met. There was no goodness in the fact many of them had suffered due to the fact they had just never fit in, but at least something good had _come_ from it.

“You gonna stop pesterin' me about tellin' you my life story, now?” Sniper asked, interrupting Scout's train of thought.

“Dude, I'm d-damn sure there's a lot more ya could be tellin' me,” the boy responded with a toothy grin. “But, yeah, I mean … I'm glad ya started there, 'cause maybe we're more alike than I thought.”

Maybe he was just imagining it, but he was almost certain that the bitter cold had alleviated a little bit, enough that his fingers didn't feel like they were about to drop off. The man next to him made a low sound of acknowledgement.

“In some ways. Not so much in others, but that's the thing, ain't it? My dad always said that a good pair are like two sides of the same coin. Well, I thought it a load of namby-pamby at first, especially as he told me I'd never find the other side to mine, so to speak, but maybe I was one of the lucky ones.” Sniper rolled his eyes slightly and rubbed the back of his neck, likely growing uncomfortable with the discussion by that point. “Look, in my opinion, the relationship between a Scout and a Sniper on the battlefield is more important then people give it credit for. 'Specially durin' the start of a round. At first, I didn't like havin' to start thinkin' about you load of lunatics as well as me own job, but it wasn't so bad.”

It was true. Scout was always the first to reach the objective, so the only one who could defend him was an expert in ranged combat so long as Sniper could get himself into a decent position on time. In addition, a Scout didn't have much time to evaluate the match, too busy harassing the opposing team and pushing the cart or capturing control points, whereas the Snipers could see nearly everything, and it was their job to take out the best targets before their teammates could get themselves killed.

He felt a pang upon thinking about team RED. He really missed those guys.

“Hey, yeah, that's a cool thought,” Scout agreed, though somewhat despondently. He shifted slightly, then continued: “So, uh, the other guys are really workin' for the Administrator?”

“Like I said before, some of 'em are. As for the rest, I wasn't sure. Plus … I couldn't warn 'em, just like I can't tell you what she's up to. It looks like I just cocked up and ran away like a wimp but it wasn't like that. I know for a fact she wouldn't kill any of ya, but still.” Looking relieved at the subject change, Sniper sighed and scratched at the stubble on his jaw for a moment. “Gremlin, regardless of their loyalty, they don't think any less of you. Remember that. You're our Scout, and ya were kinda the glue that held us blokes together.”

The reassurance cheered Scout up almost immediately. Again – and he was pretty sure it wasn't his imagination, this time – the bitter cold suddenly didn't seem quite so bitter. In fact, there was a kind of warmth to his surroundings now, like he'd just sat next to a cosy campfire that was banishing this strange winter away. He unfolded his arms and leaned forwards to inspect the dark water of the pool more closely in a moment of thought.

At first, he saw his own reflection. There were bags under his eyes and his face was skinnier, and his dark-blonde hair was grown out and sticking up in all directions. Just past his mirror image, he saw something white glint within the shadowy depths, and then it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Dude, there's somethin' down there,” he remarked, lowering his face to try and get a closer look. Before he could stick a hand into the water, he found himself being pulled back by the waistband of his jeans.

“You know how it works, kiddo. Stay around too long and you'll find somethin' you won't like. I don't think it's gonna be giant bugs, this time.”

A chill shot down Scout's back and he immediately scrambled to his feet, backing away from the water as if it was infected by something. For all he knew, it could have been, or there was something alive down there. For the moment, however, that ceased to be his primary concern, for when Sniper stood up to look at him, something _rose up_ from the ground with him.

“Why are we in here?” the boy asked shakily, staring at the two shadows that had sprouted up behind the assassin. One short, one tall, both with glowing eyes that felt like they were peering into his soul.

“Can't remember. I guess that's why they said not to enter the system twice. The first time, ya've got no idea what the hell's goin' on. The second, you recognise that you're inside it, ya just can't remember how. Then ya panic, 'cause maybe somethin' happened and you're in a fight for ya life.” Sniper's fists slowly tightened into balls, and the look on his face suggested that he could feel the presence behind him. “Maybe I just wanted everythin' out on the table. Almost everythin', anyway. You're the only bloke I'd let in here to go pokin' around. Maybe ...” He tensed, for the shadows had both slid hands onto his shoulders in a manner that was either threatening or … supportive, oddly. “Maybe there was something I needed to tell you.”

Terror-struck, Scout could only watch as more of the things rose from the dust beneath their feet. They were translucent, like ghosts, but there was nothing definable about them other than that they resembled the shapes of people. There were no faces, no voices, just a dark and looming presence that chilled the boy to the very core. Something they all shared in were the holes in their heads that bled shadows – except for the first two that had appeared. They had holes in their hearts.

_Memento mori._

Without thinking, he lunged forwards, seized Sniper by the arm and attempted to pull him away from the rapidly growing army of _things_. He managed it for a little way, but the assassin wrenched his arm from his grip and turned to face the perceived threat.

“Dude, we've gotta go! C'mon!” Scout insisted, beginning to panic. Once again, he grabbed his friend's arm and began tugging him along the valley floor. “No 'ffence, but your mind is the _worst_ thing I have ever seen.”

Much to Scout's annoyance, Sniper stopped again and turned back as if fascinated by what was watching them beside the pool.

“They're just people,” the Australian murmured, irritatedly pulling his arm away from his companion again. “Not even that. Just memories.”

“Yeah?” Scout pressed. “And memories can hurt ya, man! I've seen _that_ before and I ain't gonna let it happen again.”

He looked back at the wrong moment. A bone-white arm had found it's way out of the black pool and was scratching at the rocky surface beyond, trying to find leverage to pull itself up. More followed where that came from. The monsters crawled out of the water, and Scout was alarmed to see that there were eight in all. Worse; each of them resembled their former team-mates, and one even looked like _him_ , only way more gross and dead-looking, like zombies but worse because they didn't move slowly and there was still a kind of sentience in their shrivelled eyes. They'd been trapped under that water for a long time, and hell were they mad about it.

“Er -” Sniper managed, quickly shoving Scout in the opposite direction. “ _Now_ we run.”

The kid didn't need telling twice. There were no weapons programmed into the system, this time, so what else could they do? He ran, though knew better than to just sprint off at full speed because there wasn't a soul alive who could keep up with him. Instead, he maintained a pace somewhere behind Sniper, letting the Australian lead the way because he had been to this place before. All the while, they were pursued by the eight zombie-mercs, who apparently had a frightening tendency to run on all fours and make noises like dying animals.

Scout could almost hear their sharp teeth gnashing. Despite the fact he would emerge alive if killed within the system, this time, his heart was still pounding in absolute fear and he refused to look around at the creatures again, because he knew that they were steadily growing closer as the seconds flew by.

All of a sudden, there came a thunderous sound that blasted across the sky, a terrible, mechanical groaning that didn't sound like anything natural. With a pained yelp, Scout covered his ears, but then the entire image of the world around them became horribly distorted. It was like when he turned the TV on but all he got was fuzz and the silent picture of the programme whirling about. It was enough to completely throw off his sense of balance and he went crashing to the ground, seeing stars and colours all blending in together.

Within moments, it was over, and he was flooded with a sense of panic. Finding himself flat on his stomach, he looked around and saw that the zombie-mercs had been similarly affected by whatever the hell that disturbance had been and were attempting to claw their way out of the tangle they had gotten themselves into. It provided a decent enough opportunity for him to leap back into action, grab a now prone Sniper, and heave him back into business.

“What the hell was that?!” Scout yelled, casting his gaze to the sky, worried that something monstrous was going to come falling out of it. Sniper shook his head in response.

“Doesn't matter. C'mon, there's a slope up there,” the assassin barked, pointing up to the side of the cliff. Pulling the boy over, he then clambered up to the protrusion and hoisted himself onto the flat ledge with a grunt. “It's time for Operation: Toss Gremlin. Get your bony backside up here!”

Scout obediently jumped up and grabbed the sloped ledge, using his feet to push himself upwards. Meanwhile, Sniper was moving to the highest point of the protrusion. He turned and opened his palms, lacing his fingers together to form a small platform for the boy to use as leverage to exit the valley walls. It was a neat throwback to the old days, back when they were team-mates and Scout would get the tallest person available to quickly vault him towards high-up places.

Despite himself, the kid grinned and punched the air with his fist. “Yeah!”

“Enough of that. C'mon, let's make a go of it. One, two, three!”

Rolling upright, Scout darted forwards, leapt onto his friend's hands, and when he was pushed upwards, he quickly twisted his body and reached out for the edge of the cliff-face.

He missed.

At least his landing was soft.

Neither of them wasted any time. The monsters had since collected themselves and were speeding towards the valley wall. There, they scrabbled at the rocks, yowling and furiously attempting to clamber over each other. Sniper and Scout got back to their feet and assumed their positions again.

“Go!”

This would likely be their final chance. The howling of the rampant beasts below grew ever louder. Once again, Scout gave himself some space to run, then sprinted to his companion and allowed himself to be thrust upwards with enough force that for a moment he was entirely airborne. There! His fingers latched onto the edge of the cliff. With a strained yell, he rapidly sought purchase with his feet, and the wall was fortunately rough enough that he could press his toes into some cracks and push his body upwards. The grass above provided additional support, and soon he was flat on his stomach, looking down over the edge as Sniper attempted to climb up far enough to reach Scout's hand.

Sniper smirked up at him. “Now _that's_ how it's done.”

“Hurry up!” the younger man shouted back, helpless as the zombie-Medic scuttled onto the stone slope and grabbed Sniper's leg. The assassin turned and kicked the thing's rotting head with enough force that it simply came clean off, making a gross _squelch_ as it impacted the ground.

Free from its hold, Sniper snarled and jumped from where he was clung to the cliff-face. Their hands met.

The sky began to flicker like a dying light bulb, soon to be filled yet again by that terrible roaring, grating sound, metallic in nature. Scout wrapped his free arm around his head to try and protect his ears from the deafening noise, his face pressed into the earth. The musty scent of grass and soil filled his nostrils – only to then vanish because what he could see of the environment was again fuzzing violently like the reception was being interrupted by a storm or electric appliance. Regardless, he dropped his other hand down, pulled Sniper up enough to grab his arm, then forced himself to shaking legs and yanked upwards with all his might.

He ended up flat on his ass before the Australian's greater weight ploughed into him and squashed him into the ground.

Everything stabilised. The horrible sound stopped, the world returned to what could be loosely defined as “normal”.

Scout felt the weight on top of him shift as Sniper grunted and rolled off. The boy sat bolt upright, eyes wide, then scrambled to his feet to make sure the creepy zombie guys weren't about to come crawling over the side of the cliff. Upon inspecting the valley floor, it seemed that the things had simply inexplicably vanished, as if they had never really been there in the first place.

It wasn't like he could ask himself what the hell was going on by this point. A more relevant question would likely pertain as to why they had even decided to enter the system again when they were both fully aware of the dangers a single mind could contain. At least Scout's inner experience hadn't been overwhelmingly obvious – at least up until the giant, rampaging bugs, of course – whereas here, something was very wrong.

And it wasn't just the shadows and dead mercenaries and other secrets that lurked within the rocky crevices. It was the fact the system seemed to be malfunctioning.

Scout quickly turned to his friend, who was groggily pushing himself up off the ground and massaging his forehead with his fingertips.

“This is kinda like – hey, remember when we smoked a ton'a weed in ya van that time? This is kinda like that, but one-hundred percent worse. Dude, I ain't even gonna _ask_ what issues ya've got.”

“Well, keep it that way,” the Australian responded with a sneer, glancing up at the younger man. “None of us have been devoured by hairy bugs or chased by death wizards just yet, whatever the case. Get away from the friggin' cliff before you fall.”

After taking a quick step away from the edge of the chasm, Scout paused to take in their new surroundings. It was the Outback, all right, a desert that stretched as far as the eye could see, though it was far from being the alien plane dusted with red sand that he remembered. They'd flown over parts of it on their way to Adelaide, and he could recall being extremely grateful that Sniper had promised not to drag him through the death-trap of a terrain. He'd had enough of deserts, and he'd heard that just about any animal in Australia could kill a guy if it wanted to. Even the dopey looking kangaroos.

No, this place was tainted, somehow. Something about the darkness, the bitter chill, and the chaotic sky was almost apocalyptic in nature. It gave him the creeps, and he wanted out, but how the hell were they meant to wake themselves up?

“Why were me and the guys down there and why were we _dead_?” he pushed, waving a wild, panicked hand towards the valley below. “You got a fear of zombies or what? And why's it so -”

“Scout, piss off,” Sniper warned, abruptly standing and moving forwards to jab a finger into the younger man's chest. “For your sake, I don't go thinkin' about all the nonsense I saw in your whacko little brain, and I don't really wanna think about what's in mine, either. Let's do somethin' useful and walk somewhere.” With that, the assassin shoved his hands into his pockets and made off in a random direction.

Scout followed with a reluctant groan, having to jog slightly to keep up with Sniper's long strides.

“Ya made fun of me for like two weeks about the whole giant bug thing,” he grumbled accusingly. He was met with an amused huff of laughter.

“Ah, yeah, well, I _did_ get mauled to death by those things. I was within my rights with that one. It might've been within the system, but I still felt it, y'know?”

“Yeah,” Scout muttered, reluctantly recalling the incident. His chest twinged painfully. “Sorry 'bout that.”

“Kid, din't mean it.”

“Nah, really. And, uh … for all the times I've argued with ya 'cause I was mad. And punched ya in the face. And shoved ya. I mean, you were right, y'know, when you said we're kinda the same but different, 'cause ya've got all the patience in the world and I got none.”

Sniper slowed down and placed a hand on Scout's upper back, perhaps intending the contact to be encouraging.

“Mate, I've got less and you've got more than ya think. It's easy to make exceptions for certain people, though. In both regards.”

Scout turned his gaze towards the ground. “Yeah.” His foot anxiously scuffed the grass. “Kinda like – yeah, like family and stuff.”

A brief, awkward silence fell between the pair. Daring a glance up at his friend, Scout was relieved to see him looking more contemplative than anything. He understood that Sniper definitely wasn't a 'family' kind of guy, and usually didn't have time for what he called emotionally-driven drivel, so he certainly didn't want to make him angry by making their friendship something that it wasn't.

“That's how ya see me?” Sniper eventually asked, his voice strangely flat.

“Well, yeah. Duh. Ya think I woulda done all this crap with some shmuck?” Feeling heat flush his cheeks, Scout proceeded to mumble, “Sometimes it was cool to just … I dunno. Pretend? Ah, jeez, that sounds so dumb. I don't mean it. Let's just go somewhere and figure out why the hell we're in here.”

His face burning, he adopted a hunched posture and walked ahead of Sniper, thoroughly embarrassed by what he had admitted. The guy probably thought he was a right wuss, and he wouldn't blame him. Sniper had never asked to be seen in a certain light – in fact, it was likely the _last_ thing he wanted – but he had unwittingly settled into that void in Scout's life. A small part of him had to have known he had done that. Right?

Feeling a thick, hairy arm carefully snake around his shoulders, the boy sniffed and allowed himself to be drawn into Sniper's side.

“Let's just worry about creepy brain-zombies for now, eh? But just one thing: never rely on someone else's validation. Especially not your dad's. You never really needed that wanker, didja? You and your mum – ya did just fine, and you're gonna continue to do fine. If you don't let some arsehole's absence cast a shadow over what you've got, then, well ...” the Australian gestured loosely to their cold, bleak surroundings, “someone like you's not gonna end up like this. Ya gonna do great. Doesn't matter where or who you came from. You'll be shootin' star.”

“Jeez, way to be sentimental, dustbag,” Scout offered in an attempt to humour him, his voice somewhat strained. Though rendered all kinds of emotional by his friend's words, his attempt to dodge the turn things had taken was entirely purposeful – and successful, given the half-sneer on Sniper's face. The fact of the matter was, he knew he was going to get upset and then he was going to get mad and things would get ugly for the hundredth time. The dude being nice to him didn't help. He'd almost have preferred it if the Australian was the same churlish, uncharitable guy he had been when they'd first met.

Though even then, despite having known the kid for less than a minute and the road being littered with the shards of his broken windscreen, he'd still given him a ride. Sure, Scout had paid dearly for _that_ , but their connection had been virtually instantaneous.

A connection that was being mercilessly cut away against their will.

“Fucking weed,” Sniper grumbled, immediately shoving Scout away from him. “Ya know what? Killin' you would make this a lot quicker. Gets us both outta this nightmare. Or ...” he paused as a low, threatening rumble vibrated across the sky. “The bloody trumpets of the apocalypse or whatever that sound is – get a good look at what's past the distortion.”

“Yeah? Ya said not to look too deeply into this place.”

“You ain't lookin' in when that starts. You're lookin' _out_. I'm no Engineer, but either the machine's broken, or our brains are tryin' to wake us up.”

Disturbed by both ideas, Scout didn't reply and instead stopped walking, turning his gaze up to the dark, spiralling clouds above. They trembled and shook as another low sound rumbled across them. Another break in the system was coming. He altered himself into a more steadfast position; legs apart, fists clenched, and eyes to the sky. There was no way he was letting himself get trapped in the machine again.

Sure enough, he was almost thrown backwards moments later when a sudden and unnatural wind forced him off his feet. Barely managing to steady himself, he clenched his eyes shut when that awful sound increased tenfold in volume, terrible enough that it was physically painful, but he kept his hands down by his sides. A mere sound couldn't hurt him, especially now that he could consider it wasn't necessarily a threat, but more of a warning.

He opened his eyes. He couldn't see. Pulses of static distorted his vision, just like before. However, this time, he didn't try to hide away from whatever was happening, instead choosing to peer into the darkness beyond and hope, perhaps in vain, that something was out there.

A sudden terror enveloped him, but it's cause was far from apparent. With his heart beginning to race, Scout gasped for breath and threw out his arms, needing something to hold onto. His hand impacted with something warm and hard. Sniper? His hand was roughly forced away by whatever it was. Then, through the distortion, he began to see silhouettes, their forms lit by an unknown source of light. Men he didn't know.

_Get them back under!_

There came a dull sensation in Scout's head, like he'd just been hit round his skull with something heavy. The image of their surroundings jarred heavily, and he heard a terrible cry of pain from somewhere nearby. It was what felt like minutes later that he was finally able to focus and see that everything had returned to normal again. Well, relatively normal, as they were still in the system, but like before, everything had convincingly stabilised.

Taking a shaky step forwards, the boy's legs immediately crumpled. He pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled towards the larger form of his friend, who had also toppled over at some point. Sniper was curled into a taut ball and clutching his head in his hands, strained breaths hissing through bared teeth.

“Dude?” Scout whimpered urgently, grabbing hold of Sniper's arm and giving it a shake. “There's people out there watchin' us. Did you see 'em? Snipes, I think we got caught. That Spy must've -”

“Get out,” the assassin growled quietly, pained eyes turning in the boy's direction. “Quickly. Find a way out before they get you to the Administrator. Stop fucking dawdling and go!”

It was clear now that there was only one way out. Without stopping to think, Scout scrabbled to his feet and began to search for something that he could use. Something sharp, something hard, _anything_. All he could see, however, was grass and desert.

He turned to the chasm they had just come from. Back where they had started. Maybe running away hadn't been the right thing to do. Not this time.

Reluctantly abandoning Sniper but knowing it was the only way that he could help, he raced to the edge of the huge crack in the desert floor and peered down into it. From his vantage point, he could see the black pool set into the rocks a small distance away. There were no shadows, no zombies, but there were … ghosts. Or, at least, that was what they looked like, gathering along the top of the cliff. They seemed oblivious to Scout, and he too did his best to ignore them, but despite his hurry, he couldn't help but draw closer and try to gain a better understanding of the horrible occurrences happening in this place.

It was a group of about seven kids. They were Australian, no doubt, given their hulking forms and the bizarre appearance of having gone through puberty at nine years old. All save for one, the small and gangly dark-haired boy trapped between them all. His nose was bleeding and his knuckles were red raw, and tears built in his eyes as the other children jeered at him.

“Freakin' joey!”

“What're you, some kinda freak?”

“Ain't even Australian!”

“Mummy and daddy ain't here to save ya this time!”

The small kid lunged at one of the bigger ones, wildly punching and scratching, but he was quickly overwhelmed by the group. To give him his due, he managed to fight several of them off in his evident rage and upset, but the kids were getting closer and closer to the edge of the chasm.

“Say g'day to the crocs, Micky Mouse!”

Scout didn't know what to think when the small kid was pushed into the deep crag. None of it was real; the children looked like they were made of mist or some ethereal substance, but maybe it was something that had been real, once. He tried to numb himself to what he had just seen, but it was hard, because it reminded him of when he was a kid and he found it pained him to know that somebody else had gone through all that, too.

The young man lowered his feet over the side of the cliff and held onto the edge with his hands. He clung there for a moment, terrified of the pain that was coming, but in reality, being in the system was no different to being in the respawn. No matter what happened, he was going to come out of it okay.

He let go.

For a time, he was airborne. It felt like the wind was carrying him. Lotus petals caressed his cheeks. For a split second, he caught a glimpse of a child sat by the edge of the pool, wiping his own tears away. Within that short space of time, he was sure that the boy was making eye-contact with him.

_It ain't gonna be like this forever, kid._

 

* * *

 

Rain. Why did it always have to be rain?!

Her moped wasn't exactly designed to be racing along the rain-slick roads of – well, the middle of nowhere – but there she was.

This time, however, Miss Pauling wasn't alone.

She quickly wiped the wet from her glasses and leaned forwards, eyes set on the black truck speeding along ahead of her. Really, she should have been _in_ the truck and overseeing whatever was going on in there, but she had long since chosen her side, however reluctantly.

She had watched, horror-struck, as Scout and Sniper were dragged from their hotel in Japan. That Contender woman was amongst those responsible. The two men were unconscious and unable to fight back as they were hauled into the van and locked inside with a group of people in black and purple uniforms. There had been no time for her to do anything – not that she was _supposed_ to have helped the mercenaries, whatever the case.

It was fortunate, then, that when she followed the private plane they boarded to China, most of team RED were there in the airport waiting for her.

It had been more than a favour she had asked of Demoman. It had been a request for help, because there was no way she could continue to try and get Scout and Sniper out of trouble on her own. He was one of the mercenaries that she trusted and she also trusted his judge of character, thus the mercs he had brought with him. She had already gone against the Administrator and – _god she was going to be so mad –_ started ignoring her phone calls again. This really was mutiny and poor Miss Pauling was going to pay for it, possibly with her life, but even a woman as loyal as her could question whatever it was Helen was up to. At the very least, she knew it wasn't anything good.

Beside her on the road, Soldier, Demoman, Pyro, Heavy, and Spy were occupying a large red SUV and chasing the black truck ahead. Heavy was driving, Demoman was in the passenger seat, and Pyro and Spy were in the back. Soldier was desperately trying to force himself into the front but had only ended up getting himself wedged between the seats.

“I cannot see! Move out of the way, Euros!”

Miss Pauling drew closer to the SUV and raised a hand, wildly gesturing. Demoman poked his head out of the window and grinned.

“Now?!” he shouted, his single eye shimmering with excitement.

“Yes! Go!”

With a maniacal laugh, Demo vanished inside for a moment, then reappeared with his beloved stickybomb launcher. He leaned out (with Heavy holding onto the back of his jumpsuit), took aim, and fired several stickybombs onto the back of the truck.

Soldier burst out of the sunroof and held onto his helmet to keep it from being blown off his head as their vehicle sped up a little.

“Fiiiiiire!” he bellowed.

“Wait!” Miss Pauling yelled out, finding that her moped was falling behind. She reached out for the back of the SUV and pulled herself up onto it, allowing the moped to lose power and drop onto its side, abandoned in the middle of the road. She slipped on the metal and cried out, her heart jolting as she almost went flying off the back of the vehicle. Fortunately, Soldier had since lost interest in whatever was going on in front of him and was able to reach back and grab hold of the woman's arm.

“I like your style!” he commended, easily pulling her small form over and down into the sunroof. “Demo, I said fiiiiiiire! What are you waiting for?!”

The Scotsman pushed himself further out of the window, much to the annoyance of Heavy, who grunted irritably as he was yanked sideways.

“Fall back! If they brake, we're gonna go smashin' into their rear-end!” Demo advised.

“Fall back!” Soldier copied. “Also, that's what she said!”

Heavy grumbled something in Russian under his breath. Spy made a subtle sound of exasperation that was muffled because his face had been buried in the palm of his hand all the while.

When they were at a decent enough distance, Demoman triggered the stickybombs to explode. As expected, the driver of the truck braked, which caused it to swerve dangerously along the sopping road as it screeched to a halt, barely avoiding a hard impact with the side of a rocky hill. The back of the truck, now deformed and smoking, was kicked open from the inside.

Miss Pauling rapidly yanked her pistol from her purse and aimed it at whoever was emerging. To her surprise, however, there was no need to be cautious.

It was Scout. The boy seemed to be unsteady on his feet and rather unfocused. His face was splashed with blood, but thankfully, he didn't seem to be wounded, despite everything. With a brief glance in their direction, he then dived right back into the back of the truck and vanished.

Heavy had since stopped the SUV, enabling Miss Pauling to slide down the windscreen and to the ground. When the driver door to the truck banged open, she stopped and watched as a figure made their way down the metal steps.

A Contender. A Spy, by the looks of it, given her lithe form and twin katanas. Despite Pauling's curiosity, there was little other she could do but aim her pistol when the other woman began swinging her blades around threateningly, approaching her with a scowl. She was dead in a single shot. A shame, really, but Pauling had more important things on her mind, namely ensuring that all of her guys were okay.

Jogging to the back of the truck, she peered inside. Unconscious or dead bodies scattered the floor. To the far end, two mattresses had been positioned either side of a strange looking machine. A _Deus ex Machina?_ Sniper was sprawled on one of them, and Scout was hurriedly trying to lift the heavier man over his shoulder with little success.

“Hey, Scout,” Pauling greeted, keeping her tone soft as not to startle him. She was met with a terrified glance.

“P-Paulin'? What the hell's goin' on? Where are we?”

“China. You both got attacked. I followed you here, and ...” She paused, seeing the tears coating the young man's cheeks. Dread seeped into her belly. If something had happened, then she was partially to blame because of her reluctance to disobey the Administrator. “Scout, is he …?”

Quickly lifting herself into the back of the truck, she carefully trod around the bodies of the Administrator's goons and approached the two men. With a gentle hand did she encourage Scout to stop fussing and give her some room to inspect the prone assassin.

“He's alive. Don't worry,” she said, managing to hide her uncertainty. Indeed, Sniper was still breathing, but his eyelids were flickering and he was coated in a cold sweat. Whatever had happened, whether in or out of the system, it had taken a lot out of him. “The guys have got some of Medic's pills.”

Scout immediately perked up. “Medic's here?!”

“Well, no, but Heavy snagged some of his pills before they left. They may not heal him completely but they'll help keep him going for a bit longer, at least until we get our hands on some Medibeam.”

With the help of Heavy and some of the others, Sniper was stuffed into the backseat of the SUV, resulting in everyone else being forced to cram in next to him or on the floor. Scout force-fed him some of the mentioned pills with evident relief.

Even Pauling thought the change in the young man was quite remarkable. There he was, tired and frightened but doing his very best to stay calm. Upon seeing his old friends, he had greeted them without all the excitement of an abandoned puppy, but like he had only seen them yesterday. In the grand scheme of things, there was no time to mess around, and they all knew it – perhaps Scout more than any of them. He made no attempt to regale them all with tales of his heroic feats and adventures since he had been away.

In fact, he didn't talk about himself at all. The boy sat quietly between Sniper and Pyro, clearly grateful, but he was unfocused and vacant. His mind was truly elsewhere, and no matter who tried to bring him out of it, all they received in turn was a short response and a brief look in their direction.

Despite herself, Pauling almost wished that the old Scout was back. Perhaps with time, both Scout and Sniper could put everything behind them and return to their usual selves.

Perhaps not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait with this one. It's been a busy period at work. I also scrapped the original chapter and completely rewrote it. Thanks all. ^^


	6. Who Can You Trust

Between the sodden, wooden slabs over his head, Scout watched a sliver of the moon fade in and out of existence as dark clouds passed it in the sky. Every now and then, a cold drop of rain would bypass the planks and splash on his cheek. It was freezing there in the old barn they'd found and snuck into along the way, but at the very least, they had a roof over their heads, and thankfully hadn't been forced to squash up together in the car to sleep.

The barn was fairly small, old, and rickety, though there was a slope leading to a ledge loaded with harvested rice plants. They'd let Miss Pauling have the relative privacy of that area and made a home on the dusty floor below, most of them using clothes and what other luggage they had brought along as pillows and blankets. The group had settled inside and Scout had hoped that an angry farmer with a gun wouldn't stumble across them in the morning – but then he remembered who he was with. Angry farmers had nothing on the RED mercs.

Being nestled inbetween Heavy and Sniper had led to the worst night's sleep he'd probably ever had, as both men had the most obnoxious snores in existence. Even so, he doubted he would have slept anyway. It was cold, and … yeah, he was still pretty shaken up following everything that had happened. He often caught himself struggling to believe that the other guys had actually left the US to come and find them, that Miss Pauling had apparently forsaken her devotion to the Administrator. Though, of course, while he was grateful for their presence, he still didn't know why they were there, and supposedly, neither did they. Perhaps the most terrifying aspect of it all was that even Miss Pauling didn't seem to know anything particularly useful – only that the Administrator was up to no good and it could affect all of them.

To his left, Sniper abruptly stopped snoring and shifted beneath Demoman's coat (which had been kindly lent to him by the Scotsman). His eyes flickered open and landed instantly on Scout, a somewhat glazed look to them, which was understandable enough. Scout had woken naturally from his time in the Machina, whereas Sniper had been roughly pulled from it, which likely wasn't how it was supposed to work. Still, it wasn't like there had been any other choice.

“You okay?” the boy whispered, leaning in. He detected alcohol on the assassin's breath and realised that Demoman must have shared a few drops of his whiskey as well as his coat and hat. Sniper pulled off the black wooly beanie and, with some effort, pushed himself into a seated position.

“Gon' throw up.”

With considerable effort, Scout pulled the Australian upright and allowed him to rest his weight against him as they slowly ventured outside. He then made off on his own for a little bit to give his friend some privacy doing whatever he had to do, walking to the clumsily parked SUV and opening the boot to search through the supplies in the back. There were bags of clothes, bits of food and alcohol, but nothing much more than that, suggesting that the team had left their base in a hurry.

But why? The worst part of all that was happening was that he was so utterly clueless. He hated being left in the dark more than anything. He wasn't a _kid_ anymore, and so it was frustrating to think that he was being treated like one, however unintentionally. He wanted to get mad because that was the only way he had ever gotten anything resembling answers, but right now, there were bigger things to worry about.

Anxiously walking back to where he had left Sniper, he found the assassin slumped back against the sodden wall of the barn, pale and shaking. Fortunately, the roof of the building protruded enough to shield him from the cold rain.

“What the hell happened?” Sniper grumbled once Scout reached him.

“Uh ...” The younger man lowered down onto his heels and ran a hand over his now moist face, struggling to remember the trouble they had found themselves in not long ago. It had all happened so quickly, and he'd been so embarrassingly scared. What he could remember made him feel sick to his stomach and all he wanted to do was just go home to his Ma. “We got smacked up somethin' good and dragged to China. I beat the guys up as best I could, then the back of the van exploded and RED and Miss Paulin' were there. Thought I was dreamin', dude. Dunno why they even put us in the _Machina_ if the Administrator wants ya, uh, kinda dead.”

“Would've served as a warning to you, wouldn't it? If ya'd, well, seen that happen while stuck in there.” Sniper's voice drifted off, as it usually did when their conversations started venturing into dangerous territory. “Scout, obviously there's no use in keepin' secrets any more. This whole thing's blown up and the only people who can throw a wrench in her plans is you lot. There's some stuff I gotta tell ya.”

“Things that could be shared with all of us, I am sure.”

Spy's input came before Scout could reply. The man uncloaked, walking out of the air with a cool ferocity about his very being. Even now, five years after meeting him, he still had the ability to make Scout horribly nervous at times because, well, he was a _Spy_ , and the boy had something of a vendetta against anybody who performed as that particular class, even if he knew it was pointless.

Sniper was apparently nervous, too. He raised his knees and leaned forwards to hug them, his shoulders taut as their team-mate approached.

“Come inside. Both of you. This entire wretched journey here, I've had them all questioning me, suspecting me of knowing more than I should and of being a _traitor_. All I have ever done is look out for you worthless rodents, is it not? And yet, you seemed quite content with shifting the blame when you left without so much as a goodbye, Mr Mundy. They would never suspect _you_.”

“You _do_ know more than ya should, ya bloody spook,” Sniper growled defensively, though kept his gaze averted.

“Information of little consequence, surprisingly enough. The Administrator's interest shifted when she realised she had somebody idiotic enough to do her work without questioning it. Now, the others are in the process of waking, so if you are feeling quite up to it ...”

Spy leaned down and made to pull Sniper to his feet, but the Australian roughly shook him off and awkwardly stood to struggle his way back around the corner to the entrance of the barn.

The youngest of the three stood in numb silence. His stomach felt like it was flipping and he really wanted to puke but he managed to force himself to get a grip. There was no way Spy was actually telling the truth; the guy revelled in winding people up when he felt like it, and now really wasn't the time to be resorting to his usual antics. Scout angrily approached him and gave his shoulder a neat shove.

“The hell do ya think you're doin', pal? Can't ya see he don't need ya pissin' him off right now?”

“Please,” Spy retorted dryly, ignoring the push. He took a cigarette from the case in his pocket and took his time in lighting it. “You are not the idiot you present yourself to be, boy, so do refrain from lingering in ignorance. You are a rabbit, and foxes come in all shapes and sizes.”

Stunned, Scout stared at the other man as if wounded. Denial swiftly turned to anger.

“Hey, bud, you got no idea whatcha talkin' about. All of us are the good guys, here.”

With that, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and quickly stalked away, not wanting to hear anything else that would challenge the way he had been perceiving things for the past five years. Mercenaries weren't bad guys. They were just caught in the middle and didn't really care about what they were fighting for, for the most part. Besides, what did he care? Good, bad, it made no difference to him, but if Spy was telling the truth, that would mean he had been lied to by someone he considered his closest friend. He _really_ didn't like being lied to.

Trudging reluctantly back inside, he looked up to see that the rest of the team was awake and caught in rapt silence, watching as Sniper lowered himself onto a closed crate. Scout had never seen anything more terrifying – and had certainly never witnessed such a length of silence from certain members of RED. Even Soldier wasn't saying a word, instead keeping his head raised so that he could watch the Australian from beneath the rim of his oversized helmet.

Scout lingered back, not wanting to appear as intimidating as the others. He was joined by Miss Pauling and Spy. Pyro, on the other hand, was apparently not paying any attention at all, and was sat with their back to the others, flicking a lighter on and off as if thoroughly bored.

“Er,” Sniper began, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “You're really gonna go for the Administrator, eh?”

“Yes,” Heavy replied at once, his fierce eyes narrowing somewhat. “Spy says you have information. I knew you were shady man, Sniper, but this? You ran away like coward.”

“No,” Sniper snapped back hoarsely. “Look, none of ya are meant to know this. I don't know what the Administrator will do to ya when she finds out she's got a team rebelling against her. Just take one look at me – that's the kinda stunts she can pull. That's why I never warned ya before I left, but ...” he stopped mid-speech and shivered, his features betraying some kind of physical pain, but nobody moved to help just yet. “Awright, let's take it from the beginning …

“The Administrator was pissed by what happened with the Australium and all that. I guess it made her realise that she really is mortal, like any of us. With some help, she's created somethin' both better and worse than the life-extender machines. I don't know the science, but they built on the ideas of both the respawn machine and the _Machina_ and they created, uh ...” Again, he rubbed the back of his neck, “... four monstrosities. Four machines. There's one here in China. None of them have been switched on yet because she's waiting to test it again.”

Demoman scratched his head as if confused. “What the hell are they for, then, mate?”

“I think … Er, they strip a person of their biology. What makes 'em human. It essentially kills 'em and replaces them with a digital copy of themselves. The mind gets stored in the machine and put back into the digital copy. Does that make any sense? The only thing is, she doesn't _have_ to put someone's mind back. She can build her own army of mindless drones that are stronger and faster than any normal bloke. You get it?”

The men began mumbling between themselves. As they tried to get their heads around it all, Scout picked up Demoman's coat from the floor and moved to drape it over Sniper's shoulders, still concious of his well-being despite it all. For some reason, the assassin didn't look at him, nor even acknowledge him, his head lowering like he was ashamed of something.

“She had some of us helpin' her out,” Sniper continued, his voice becoming oddly strained. “Both Medics, Engies, and … another New Zealander, for their genius. Merasmus for his mumbo-jumbo. Spy and I were brought on to protect the project, but the spook wisely dropped out after a couple of missions.”

“What were these missions?” Heavy asked gruffly, folding his massive arms across his chest. Sniper audibly sighed and leaned forwards, a sheen of cool sweat glistening on his brow.

“She's gotta have people to turn into these super-powered drones, right? These people are called Contenders. She thinks RED and BLU had a perfect system of classes, so these Contenders are assigned classes, too. Scout and I met one of them in Japan -”

“She's dead,” Miss Pauling confirmed. “That's one less Spy to worry about.” The woman cleared her throat and glanced downwards. “Er, sorry, Sniper. Carry on.”

“Right. Well, some of these Contenders decided to bail. They were just kids, y'know? Didn't know what they were getting themselves into. I got sent to dispatch 'em 'cause they knew too much. They were just … yeah, just kids, no older than Scout. I went back and I told that witch that I wasn't gonna be shootin' these boys and girls any more. Nah, I demanded not to be given jobs like that. Y'know what she did then? She forced me to test her prototype 'cause I was one of the more _expendable_ on the team. It didn't do what it was meant to, it just fiddled with my brain, made it feel, like ... I dunno. Like it wasn't mine any more."

Everyone fell into deathly silence again, staring at Sniper as he relayed his tale. The assassin paused and shook his head.

“I'd had enough. I'd lost my parents over this bullshit job. I'd lost myself. And … y'know, after a lifetime of getting shoved to the sidelines, I was pretty damn sick of bein' pushed aside when it came to us doin' those competitive matches. Just felt like I had to do somethin' to make myself useful again. Anyway, when I failed to renew me contract, yeah, she tried to kill me off but only succeeded in almost killin' Scout. That was when she realised ...” Slowly, the Australian turned his head to regard Scout, his eyes dark with regret. “She realised she had someone she could use as leverage against me.”

A chill shot down Scout's spine. He took a step back, fingers anxiously fiddling at his stomach, staring at his friend fearfully.

“What the hell does that mean, Snipes?”

“What does it mean?” The Australian sighed again and rested his forehead in his hand, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone. “This illness wasn't meant to kill me. It was meant to be time limit. She wants to test the machines again, this time on someone younger and healthier. You outperformed the BLU Scout on average. She wants you, kid. When I took you outta there, it was to protect ya from that. I got a call when we were stopped in a gas station on the way out. I was meant to take ya to the first viable machine – which is here, in China. If I did, she'd put me back into the respawn system and reset my default. If I didn't, she'd send blokes to kill me and drag you back and she promised she wouldn't give ya your mind back once she was done. 'Cause the original mercs are meant do be her upper caste, so to speak, better than the drones, 'cause some of us have already proved we'd serve her without question. So you would've kept your mind originally, Scout, but I messed up, right? I just couldn't take ya there. You ain't meant to be repurposed into some fightin' machine.”

He was right. That wasn't what Scout wanted. He had just wanted to go on a cool holiday with his friend and relax. He wanted to go home and have ten kids and maybe pick up a few mercenary jobs on the side. The idea of becoming some digitalised super-soldier sounded kind of awesome, admittedly, but the thought of having his life controlled at every moment by somebody who didn't give a damn certainly did not.

“You were workin' for her this whole time?” the boy asked weakly, struggling to comprehend what he had just heard.

“I guess. Up until the part, well, I failed to uphold my end of the bargain. I went about all this like a freakin' idiot; I know I should've told ya before, but I'm a traitor to the team, I just left 'cause I didn't want to deal with it any more. I didn't want ya to think badly of me. Scout, I'm sorry, awright? And everyone else … yeah, for just leavin' and not trusting any of you with the intel.”

The boy didn't know what to say. Or what to think. Sure, a part of him felt betrayed by what he had learnt, because things _could_ have been done a different way, but, hell, mistakes were what made them human, after all, and not the drones the Administrator wanted them to be. Before he could respond, the others cut in with their mixed reactions.

“Sniper, you are a traitor!” Soldier barked accusingly, jabbing a finger towards the assassin. However, Demoman quickly pushed his hand down and patted it.

“Nah, think about it, mates,” the Scotsman offered, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from his back pocket and offering it to Sniper. “Him takin' Scoot away has prolonged all this nonsense, ain't it? Which is good, like, 'cause we'd all be bloody robots by now! He's gonna die! Ey, good job, mate!” Once Sniper had miserably taken the bottle, he ruffled the Australian's hair.

“Oh,” Soldier said thoughtfully. He then placed his hand over his heart and straightened his back as if showing respect to one lost in war. “Sniper, you are a hero!”

“Oh, _please_.” The words of derision came from the Spy, who idly flicked the end of his cigarette away and made to retrieve another one from his case. The Frenchman stepped forwards and eyed everybody present as if searching them, and making quite the show of it in the process, as could only be expected of him. “I see no heroes here. I see cowards, mad-men, and well-dressed rogues - the latter being myself, of course. But that is not all we are.” Turning to Sniper, he extended a gloved hand towards him. “There is not one man here who has never made mistakes, and so we might look past yours. Consider, my friend, that you and I are here, and Medic and Engineer are not. _Us_ , perhaps the least two trusted men here since RED formed! That alone should speak volumes.”

Sniper stared at Spy's outstretched hand. After a moment, he reluctantly reached up and gave it a single, firm shake.

“A team is what we are,” Spy continued, turning to the others. “A team is all we have. As of now, you bumbling halfwits will begin to think about how we are going to get _out_ of this situation, not how we got into it.”

Another silence – but this time, there was a new sense of determination that could be felt by everybody present. It became clear that they were all of the same mind: they were not going to allow the Administrator to control any of them. Not any more. If nobody put a stop to her plans then they would only find themselves in the same situation over and over again, fighting wars that weren't theirs and having their humanity taken away piece by piece.

Miss Pauling raised a hand and moved herself into the mens' focus, smiling sheepishly.

“This is great. Really. I mean, the person you probably shouldn't be trusting is me. I guess I still kind of work for her, as far as she knows. Like any of you, I don't want all this to go any further, so I hope we can all work together on this?”

Demoman gave her a thumbs up. “Aye! Nobody's forcin' me into any Matrix – I mean, _Deus ex_ _Machina_! Oi, what are these four big ones gonna be called? _Plot Devices_? Hah.”

As the rest of the team continued conversing, Scout shifted nervously beside Sniper and looked down at his friend. It was hard to hear what anybody else was saying because his mind felt somehow blank and like it was running rampant all at once.

The Australian's mission had been to deliver him to the very people they had been running away from. He had lied, withheld the truth, and had perhaps even spent time strengthening their relationship so that Scout would trust him. Scout _had_ trusted him. He had trusted him, perhaps, more than he had ever trusted anyone.

A rare feeling of acceptance arose within the boy, extinguishing the threatening flames of anger licking the inside of his chest. It was rare that he could put his frustration to rest, but despite all that Sniper had done, he could see that the guy had been, for the entirety of their journey, completely torn up over what he had agreed to. When the push came to shove, he had given everything to try and put things right.

The Sniper, a self-trained and ruthless assassin, was more than capable of feeling guilt, remorse, and affection. As much as he had always tried to hide it, Scout could see it as plain as day. He had been in the guy's head, after all. Not one person that he had killed in the past was forgotten. Not one bad deed had failed to leave its mark.

It was then the Scout understood that people weren't like the people he read about in comics, or watched in the crappy sitcoms on TV. An asshole could be, no matter how reluctantly, a good person.

“Bet things were a lot simpler in the Outback, huh?” the boy croaked, kneeling down beside the crate his friend was perched on.

The Australian guffawed quietly. “Too right, mate.”

“No 'ffence, pally, but ya've always been a dick. Don't gotta be sorry for some dick-soundin' thing. Us buncha bastards gotta work together to take down even bigger bastards. Hey, y'know what we're gonna do? There's gotta be a base 'round that thing they've built, like, to protect it. So there's gonna be Medibeam there, yeah? If we get there quick enough, we can heal your sorry ass.”

“Probably,” Sniper agreed, but he then shook his head. “Look, whatever you wanna do, I'm gonna be behind ya. If you're gonna lead these blokes into some battle, then yeah, I'll be right there, like always. That's all I'm concerned about. Doin' my job and keepin' you alive.”

The younger man's hand crept to Sniper's shoulder, where it gave a slight but friendly squeeze.

“Everythin' in the past, yeah?” Scout asked – though it was more of an assertion, permission for his pal to try and forgive himself for the things he had done.

“If that's how you want it, kid.”

 

* * *

 

Now that they had a faint idea of what they were up against, planning came easily.

The operation was simple. They were to infiltrate the new base, which according to Miss Pauling, was about forty miles east of the small town they stopped at along the way to pick up a map and a few supplies.

Well, they _thought_ the operation would be simple. As they headed deeper into the mountainous wilds of China, it quickly became evident that not only was the base going to be hard to find, but the people occupying the small villages dotted about the forests were less than amicable – to the extent that the group was literally chased out of one of them.

“Helen's people have been here,” Miss Pauling clarified afterwards as they all retreated back to the car, holding her side to try and ease the stitch she had gained from running. “Apparently, the base has been built inside of a mountain considered sacred in this place, and they believe it's causing all this bad weather. Their farms are getting flooded.”

“Oi, it _is_ causin' all this bad weather!” Demoman confirmed, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the rain as he stared down the length of the long, muddy road ahead of them. In the distance, a large range of mountains could be made out beneath the clouds and fog trailing miserably across the forests. “That creepy place over there is called Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. Read it on a sign as that old lady was pitchforkin' me arse. Buildin' a base in that place has gone and pissed off a flamin' great dragon, y'know! They guard the sky and rivers and it's bein' tainted by all the secret stuff goin' on over there.”

Everybody was too wet and irritated to be surprised that Demoman held that kind of knowledge. Regardless, he turned and looked at them in affront.

“What? Back in the UK, dragons are considered _pests_. They swoop about like buzzards, pinchin' the sheep and the maidens, and they play knock-knock-ginger on unsuspectin' old ladies. Oh, aye, and not only would they burn yeh trousers and make you run home without, some of 'em are wizards, too! I had to take classes at school on how to scare 'em away! Bit o' soured milk, some garlic, that does the trick. Learnt a thing or two 'bout these Chinese dragons when I were a wee lad. Yeh don't wanna be a pain in the arse for these beasties.”

“Looks like we're too late for that,” Miss Pauling responded, pulling a sodden map from her purse and turning it this way and that to make sense of their location. “I speak some Naxi. They're calling this place cursed. I'm hoping that destroying the base will put things right for the people here. At this point, it's kind of our responsibility, right?”

She was regarded somewhat sullenly by the men. They really did have little to keep their hopes up. They were all traitors to their employer and all of them knew what would happen if they dared show their faces back in the US. They were on the run with nowhere to go. Once the machine was destroyed, what then? Would they have to find the other three and destroy them, too? Or would the Administrator catch them all before they could and turn them into weapons against their will?

She owed it to these guys to at least try. Her job was to clean up the mess that they left behind and to supervise them. This time, she'd be leading them on her own terms, not those of Helen.

“All right. We can't hang around any more, guys. We've got a time limit.” She glanced towards Sniper, who was quietly leaning against the side of the car. “We've got Demo's stickybomb launcher, some shotguns, Spy's knife and cloak, and, er … the shovel Soldier stole from the farm. The base is probably being guarded. Any ideas on how we're breaking in?”

To her surprise, it was Scout who answered first.

“Uh – best thing would be a distraction, right? We just gotta think … think like we're BLU, not like we're defendin'. I can run in, lead the guys to you, then Spy can sneak in and shut down the defences.”

Heavy growled. “If I had Sasha, we would not resort to such things.”

“Yeah, well, we don't got a lot of stuff,” Scout quickly retorted, clearly a bit flustered. “We don't got Medic or Engie, either, but we can't get 'em back without doin' what we gotta do. We can't get the Medibeam on time if we don't just get the hell in there and kick their freakin' butts back to the US. Let's go, guys.”

He slouched off towards the car and climbed into the boot (being one of the few who could actually comfortably fit in there). Some of the other men looked at each other, shrugged, and wordlessly squashed themselves into the vehicle – all except for Pyro, who remained stood outside, fixated on the mountain range ahead. Miss Pauling had rarely seen the Pyro look so interested in anything other than flames, before.

“Shame about all the rain, huh?” she said, giving their arm a slightly reluctant pat.

Pyro didn't seem to agree. They pointed at the mountain and then clapped their hands together excitedly, mumbling something incoherent beneath their mask.

“Oh, you want to see the dragon?” Pauling surmised. “Uh – I don't think it'll be too happy to see _us_ , Py.”

Her warning fell on deaf ears. Pyro, in their excitement, pushed past her and sped to the car in order to clamber over poor Spy, joining Scout in the boot.

On they went again, travelling the lonely road until night began to fall. Eventually, the way forwards became increasingly bumpy as the tarmac was swiftly replaced by rocks and branches. By that point, the road was entirely makeshift and relatively recent by the looks of things, so at the very least, they were heading in the right direction.

The rain was only getting worse. It came to be that it was simply too dark and difficult to see past the torrents of water cascading down the windscreen. After a dangerous swerve, Heavy quickly pulled into the forest and found a fairly well-protected spot beneath the canopy of the trees. Though the rain wasn't half as bad between the thick, twisted trunks, nobody dared venture out of the vehicle, wary of wildlife, cold, and angry villagers.

Wild animals swiftly became an afterthought to Miss Pauling when she remembered just who she was trapped in a car with. Seven large, frazzled, and frustrated mercenaries, most of whom lacked the virtue of patience.

“Oi, are we just sittin' here all night?” Demoman bleated from the back, leaning forwards to shake Heavy's headrest.

The Russian didn't turn, but his massive hands squeezed against the steering wheel threateningly.

“Yes. Problem?”

“Aye, this ain't gonna be the second time this sorry excuse of a bloke snuffs it in me arms, as romantic as it was before!”

“Oh, wank off,” Sniper retorted in Heavy's stead, abruptly shifting so that he was as far away from anyone as he could get (which proved difficult, considering their close confines). He made to drink from the bottle he had been keeping in his pocket, only to find it abruptly stolen by the Scotsman, whom he had apparently offended.

Miss Pauling ran a hand down her face and forced herself to mentally count backwards from five.

“Guys, just _relax_ , okay?” she managed, turning to address them from her cosy spot in the passenger's seat. “We must be close to the base. We can find it properly early in the morning. There's no way we're getting anywhere when we can't see five feet in front of our faces.” She looked at Scout, whose head was poking out from over the back seats. “Hey, what food have we got back there? And is there anything we can use to stay warm?”

Scout vanished for a few moments, then reappeared with a couple of coats and a bag of food. A short time later, the men in the back were struggling to cover as much of themselves with the coats as possible, squabbling and kicking each other in their haste to get warm and fill their bellies with the terrible food provided. Sniper, Spy, and Pyro all kept to themselves, doing their best to ignore the ruckus.

Any shouting and arguing ceased when Demoman accidentally knocked Soldier's helmet clean off his head. The Scotsman stopped and stared at the other man in alarm, immediately bracing himself for some sort of violence. Violence which, surprisingly, didn't come.

“ _Do_ you think me and my brothers in arms fought like a group of little girls over things as _meaningless_ as warmth and food?” Soldier barked, somehow managing to stand enough that he could place one foot on the seat he had been occupying, as if about to give a rousing speech. “No! We endured the cold bunkers! The stale bread! Not one man complained! In fact, I developed a taste for stale bread! Hundreds of us crammed into tiny rooms and pits, which made as much sense as all of us _somehow_ fitting in this car! For the sake of moving the plot from one point to another, we must make _sacrifices!_ ”

“I would rather be gouging out my own eyeballs with a chopstick than sharing a vehicle with all of _you_ ,” Spy muttered.

“Shuddit, hippy!” The American bellowed. “I doubt that _you_ would understand, but some of us gave up everything to fight the last time some ugly lunatic tried to take over the world! Most of us lost people we may have felt the tiniest beginnings of affection for! So, now that somebody is threatening the world with hostile takeover, do we continue to complain? Or do we fight like _men_? I mean – no offence, Miss Pauling. I wish these sacks of worthlessness were _half_ the soldier that you are! And see, this menace has already taken one of our own from us! Will we not take our revenge, gentlemen?” Soldier finished, pointing aggressively at Sniper.

The assassin raised a hand. “Mate, I'm not de-”

“Nonsense! You died a true hero!”

Through the delusion of Soldier's words, Miss Pauling found herself oddly struck by what he had said. It was something that she had never considered, given that she was born after the war and had not suffered its consequences, but some of the men had truly seen it first hand, whether by fighting or simply being alive within its duration. She suddenly felt remarkably guilty for all the times she had called them idiots. They _were_ idiots, but they were here and ready to fight despite the things they may have seen in the past, and perhaps they were due more of her respect. They were certainly due the respect of the Administrator, who had endlessly used them as mere weapons in her campaigns.

She reached back and patted Soldier's arm. “We've got it. Thanks, Soldier. Maybe it's hard to forget the reason we do things, because sometimes it isn't obvious. Sometimes I forget, too, but then you guys help me remember.”

“Yeah, why're you really here, Miss Pauling?” Scout asked suddenly, genuine curiosity on his face as he peered at her from the back.

The woman rubbed the back of her neck and smiled. “You guys are hardly going to manage without me. Besides, even I can see that what the Administrator is planning is, well … beyond any of the evil she's been capable of before. Like Soldier said, I think the world's had enough of that kind of thing. I'm, uh … I'm glad that you're all here. Really.”

She could see that the men were relaxing somewhat. Perhaps all it took was for them to see that they were, in Soldier's words, brothers in arms. Perhaps whatever reason the Universe threw them all together wasn't to fight the Administrator's battles, but to fight their own. To get something back that they had lost.

Even Sniper, who had lost everything _because_ of the job, was still amongst them. Still, if he had had any doubt about his sense of worth within the group, Pauling hoped that the determination displayed by the rest of the men to help him would quell such thoughts.

“What are we going to do afterwards?” Heavy asked, breaking the short silence that had followed.

Miss Pauling smirked.

“I'll start my own business. And you guys are all _hired_.”

 

* * *

 

Scout woke suddenly, either because of the loud noises occurring outside or because he was feeling stupidly hot.

Struggling to breathe because of the boot's hot confines, the boy struggled to find his way upwards in the darkness until he realised that the Pyro was trying to hold him down.

“What the hell are ya doin'?” Scout blurted, but Pyro raised a finger to their mask, as if trying to hush him. Scout did just that, pausing for long enough that he could begin to make sense of the thuds rocking the car on occasion, and the unintelligible shouting. “Did the Administrator's guys find us?!”

Pyro nodded once, taking up one of the shotguns stored in a duffle bag to one side. With a somewhat menacing stare, they turned off the safety and cocked it before beckoning for Scout to do the same. All of the guns were still present, save for the one Pyro had just taken, which meant the group had been ambushed suddenly in the night.

The boy briefly acknowledged to himself that, with all the frustration and fear he had been feeling as of late, it was probably natural for him to also be feeling sudden surges of bloodlust alongside it.

Reaching upwards, he discovered that it was dark because somebody had thrown a coat over the small gap behind the backseats that led into the spacious car boot. Whoever had done it had been trying to hide the two men inside. In vain, perhaps, because there was no way Scout was going to sit and cower and hope that he wasn't found. When a particularly harsh _bang_ rocked the entire vehicle, he nodded at Pyro and forced himself up and out into the main body of it.

Almost immediately, a giant hand reached in and yanked him out into the moist, cold air of the forest. Enormous fingers tightened around his neck and lifted him until his feet left the ground. The crushing pain was immense and Scout gasped for air, scrabbling at whoever was doing their best to separate his head from his body.

A brief glance suggested that the person was male in appearance, but half of his face had been torn off at some point, revealing an oddly metallic and _familiar_ skeleton beneath. It looked exactly like one of the Heavy-bots they'd all had to fight, once, but this one had been clumsily disguised as a human and dressed in a black and purple uniform. Across its forehead was branded: 'T-800'.

The hand loosened suddenly. Scout found himself flat on his ass on the ground seconds later. Glancing up, he saw a rock embedded in the Heavy-bot's head which was causing sparks of electricity and fire to erupt around it, eventually forcing the massive robot to shut down and topple heavily to the wet grass below.

Around him was a group of six or seven other people he could assume to also be robots, given the uniform, and the rest of the mercenaries making do without weapons to try and fight them off. Heavy, Soldier, and Demoman were using their fists. Pyro was now shooting maniacally at the bots with disturbing peals of laughter emitting from their mask. Sniper and Spy were nowhere to be seen, but Scout knew that they were there, because every so often, a robot would fall prey to a rock in the head or a sudden fatal wound to the back. Meanwhile, Miss Pauling was sat on the shoulders of another Heavy-bot and striking at its head with one of her shoes.

Between the yells and screeches and utter chaos around him, Scout tried to make sense of the situation. There was never any benefit to asking _why_ an attack was happening. That sort of thing came later. All he had to do was remember what his job was and to do it to the best of his ability. It made him look cool.

With something of a smirk, he made an impossible jump to the upper edge of the SUV and pushed himself off of it with his feet to get some extra leverage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he took aim and fired at every robot he could see, somersaulting through the air like any good Scout should. What happened next as a result was a domino-like chain of disaster he hadn't entirely accounted for.

One of the robots slammed into a tree as it was shot – which just so happened to be the one Sniper was perched in at the time. The poor Australian was knocked clean out of the branches, barely managing to land painfully on his feet. Meanwhile, Miss Pauling was violently thrown from the shoulders of the beast she was clung to as it too fell victim to Scout's bullets. She landed perfectly into Sniper's arms, and there was a brief moment they stared at each other in shock before one of the afflicted bots swung a massive arm in the throes of death.

Sniper was struck in the gut hard enough that both he and Miss Pauling were sent flying into Soldier. Soldier then was thrown into Demoman, who crashed into the immovable Heavy. Pyro ran around like a madman, shooting at all of the remaining robots and even bashing their corpses with the butt of his shotgun.

Meanwhile, Spy was boredly lighting a cigarette in the background.

All this occurred before Scout even landed. When he had successfully dropped onto his feet, he looked around him, expecting triumph. He was met, instead, with a pile of tangled up mercenaries and their furious scowls thrown in his direction.

“Hey, who messed up?” he asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“No one. You joined us just in time,” Miss Pauling said as she struggled to unwind herself from Sniper's long legs. “This must have been a patrol unit. I can't believe she kept some of Grey Mann's robots! She hated that guy! This is so …!” She stopped and pounded the mud with her small fists, glasses becoming skew-whiff in her anger. “This is terrible. Well, it's daylight and it's not raining, so we should go in there right now! We need to destroy that machine!”

Scout nodded, reaching up to caress his now very sore neck. Moving forwards, he helped Miss Pauling to her feet and anybody else that he could stand the weight of. There was no chance, however, of Sniper getting to his feet again in the near future.

Demoman tried to pick up the limp assassin, with little success, then even shook him a little.

“Oi, not again! Wake up, ya bleedin' idiot! It was just a tonne of walkin' metal!”

Sniper flopped lifelessly onto the grass. Scout watched in dismay as the men used either their hats or hands to cover their chests out of respect to their supposedly fallen comrade. Quickly grabbing a coat from the SUV, he darted back over and knelt beside his friend, covering him with the thick garment before attempting to lift him enough that he could drag him back to the warmth and relative safety of the vehicle. Miss Pauling quickly helped, and the two managed to hoist the Australian into the back seat.

“Here lies Sniper,” Soldier said, his rough voice laden with grief. “He was Australian. He threw jars. He was the greatest homeless man that I ever met.”

Demoman's lips wobbled dangerously. “He always looks so peaceful when 'e's dead!”

“Guys, shut up! He ain't dead!” Scout shouted back from the innards of the vehicle. Grabbing another coat, he tucked it around the assassin's legs and tried to curl them up enough that he could fit comfortably on the seats. Struck by the sudden idea that this was his fault, he sniffed and retreated back into the gap between the seats, suddenly feeling sick with dread. He'd been putting everything out of his mind for so long, tried to force himself into believing that certain things had to be impossible, that this moment was coming as far too much of a shock. Thankfully, Sniper was indeed still alive, he had apparently just expended the last of his energy.

“Scout? It'll be okay. He's gone as far as he could,” Miss Pauling offered, reaching out to briefly touch Scout's shoulder. “We'll have to leave him here and hope more patrol units don't come along. If we're quick enough, we'll get some Medibeam back.”

The boy suddenly found himself not wanting to leave. Worriedly adjusting the coats around his friend's body to try and hide him some more, he swallowed thickly and fought to stop himself from thinking back to all the moments he and his friend had shared ever since they'd discovered they actually _liked_ each other a couple of years back. Granted, Sniper had foolishly used their friendship as a means to an end, but still ...

“He saved my ass. I've gotta pay him back.”

“Scout, I think you already did.” Miss Pauling offered the young man her hand as she made to retreat out of the car. Scout reluctantly took it and allowed himself to be led back outside.

“He still thinks I'm mad,” he objected. “I can't just … he's gonna get eaten or somethin'! Or she's gonna find him!”

Heavy's massive hand landed on his back, lending him a hard shove forwards.

“We go,” the Russian muttered, slamming the car door shut. “We will find Medibeam. Besides, Scout … It is good you are mad. You will kill more little robot men, eh?”

“But I'm not!” Scout retorted. “I ain't even mad, man! That's the thing! I should be fuckin' mad at him but I ain't, I just want him to be the grumpy ass old man he usually is!”

Nobody answered, either because they didn't know how or they were simply ignoring him. Without looking at any of them, the boy held his gun fast to his chest and walked ahead, heading towards the mountains. Scout really didn't want to go any further. Truth be told, he was getting more and more scared, because it was becoming more obvious just what they were up against. What if there were hundreds of those robot guys in the base? What if him and the guys were all killed trying to destroy that stupid machine they knew next to nothing about? What if he never saw his Ma again?

He imagined himself telling Sniper about his concerns. He imagined the other guy trying to hide his own fear, but it was there. That dude got scared, too, but he never talked about it. He did, however, let Scout ramble at him for as long as he needed to, and extended his patience beyond its usual capacity. He always knew what to say to make things better. For Scout, no longer having that presence felt like somebody had just pulled the floor from underneath his feet. He had _needed_ that floor for support, even if Sniper had made mistakes. Well, Scout had made mistakes, too.

The one mistake he would not make was leaving someone to die on their own. He would get the Medibeam and then everything would go back to normal. Whatever normal was, these days.

What felt like hours later, he jogged up a hill to find a rocky overhang. It offered a decent view of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain - the side that people didn't usually see. There, as plain as day, was a high-tech door guarding a tunnel within the mountain's rocky face. He quickly ducked down when he saw the uniformed guards surrounding it. There had to be at least twenty of them.

Worst of all, however, was not the guards or the impenetrable metal protecting the base from unwanted visitors. Nine men were down there and approaching the door.

Nine mercenaries clad in blue.

 


	7. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to bump this fic up to 8 chapters, or this one would have been huge, and I thought I'd make up for not updating in a while. Sorry for the wait! Also, if you have any questions about this series, feel free to visit me at www.thornvale.tumblr.com!

Scout urgently gestured for the rest of the group to duck down when they approached. They did not object, likely having seen the large group of armed men amassed below.

“Freakin' BLU are down there!” Scout hissed, rolling onto his front to peer over the edge of the overhang. “Jeez, I thought they'd be like us and go against her! Or somethin'!” Finding himself immediately being dragged backwards by his ankle, he looked around at Heavy in affront. “Hey!”

“Their Sniper has rifle. Do not let him see you.”

“Oh, yeah! 'Cause you guys didn't think to bring anything more than a couple'a shotguns! What the hell are we gonna do, now?”

“Quiet,” Heavy growled, covering Scout's mouth with his giant palm. The boy just rolled away and continued spying on the danger ahead, wishing more than anything that the people who had kidnapped them had at least brought their stuff, too. As far as he knew, Sniper's rifle was still sat in an abandoned bag of luggage in some Japanese hotel room, along with the assassin's prized hat and sunglasses. And Scout's camera, which contained all the pictures he had taken before everything had all gone to shit.

Growing increasingly upset, Scout watched with a grimace as the BLU team entered the rounded, metal door that served as one of his next obstructions. Once they were all inside, it slammed shut and locked itself with a loud beeping sound.

“Okay, change of plan,” Miss Pauling whispered. “Scout, you can't go down there to distract them without getting shot on sight. Spy, have you got your sapper in your pocket?”

“No, I was just pleased to see you,” the Frenchman replied dryly, gesturing to one his jacket pockets as if to confirm that he did indeed possess the device necessary to sap the robots. “However, sapping one would alert all of them.”

“Right. Sap the one furthest from the door and draw their attention, just cloak before they land a shot on you, okay? Do you think you can figure out a way into the base?”

Spy rolled his eyes. “I could figure my way into any government building, Miss Pauling.”

“Uh, right. As for the rest of us, we'll have to take care of the robots before they sound an alarm. Can we do that, guys?”

The men looked at each other doubtfully. Without their weapons or Medic to shield them, many of them would undoubtedly be turning up at the nearest respawn point. With any luck, the base before them would contain some kind of respawn, but how could they risk it? If any of them died, there was every chance they'd end up in the nearest base in Kong King, and then they'd be stuck.

Heavy grunted, then said without a trace of fear, “All stand behind me. I will be meatshield.”

“Well, you won't be much use to us after that, mister.”

It was Engineer's voice. At first, nobody reacted, until one by one, they all began to remember that Engineer wasn't one of them and was still working for the Administrator. Yet, there he was, stepping out from the trees and moving his goggles up to his forehead. Scout stared in disbelief, resisting the sudden urge to jump to his feet and pummel the Texan with his gun. Any kind of brawl could grab the attention of the robots down below. Regardless, he crawled back until he was a safe distance away from the ledge, then stood and squared himself up before Engineer (who was, fortunately, one of the few men on the planet actually shorter than himself).

“The fuck are you doin' here, pal?”

“Ah, just makin' a dramatic entrance. Always wanted to do that, y'know. Anyways, I saw you guys makin your way up here, 'cause apparently y'all didn't think there might be some cameras trained just about everywhere.”

Not taking his gaze off the other man for even a second, Scout backed down a little and held up his gun threateningly. Engineer could be a difficult guy to read – usually because his dark goggles gave him that creepy, dead-eyed stare that nobody really wanted to see when they went to get breakfast in the mornings. Now, however, his big, blue eyes seemed sincerely apologetic, and he held a wrench protectively up to his chest, turning it this way and that as if preparing himself for a good telling off. The accusing stares he received from everybody present were enough to make him swiftly relent.

“All right, I geddit! You're mad! Y'all got told what happened and then you just vanished into thin air. Well, me and Medic got dragged over here to work on the Administrator's project. I couldn't just say no, my Pa and his Pa before him did work for Helen's family. An Engineer just builds stuff, he don't worry about what that stuff might be used for!”

“And yet, here you are, failing to turn us in,” Spy countered, “and looking remarkably like a dog that has just defecated in its master's shoes.”

Engineer's face fell. He looked downwards and scuffed his feet, thoroughly abashed.

“I didn't realise the true extent of what she was plannin'. At first, I was consumed by lust. A lust to build this amazin' machine that could take the consciousness of a real person and spit it out someplace else. It's like the Machina, but bigger, _better_ , but then she used the prototype on Mr Boomerang and it was like … I dunno, all the life got sucked from his eyes. I never believed in souls, but … I started to think that maybe the thing we were buildin' was really gonna drain all the soul from these people she has lined up to take part. After what she did to him, I knew she wasn't gonna let me leave without makin' me regret it.”

“Hold the phone,” Scout managed, shaking his head disbelief. “She sucked out Sniper's _soul?_ That ain't even possible!”

“In a sense, though he was arguably already kinda soulless, am I right? I mean … nah, that prototype was defunct, it didn't work properly -”

“Dude!” the boy snapped, throwing down his gun. He lunged forwards and seized Engineer by the front of his dungarees. “I got forced into that guy's head. It was crumbling like a freakin' fruitcake, man! If some dumb prototype can do that, then what the hell is this giant thing gonna do if it goes wrong? Huh?! In case ya forgot, you're one of the guys lined up to get your goddamn mind sucked outta your good-for-nothin' tiny head! What the hell were ya thinkin', goin' against us like that?”

“Was just doin' my job, fella, and I ain't got a way out.” Engineer tugged Scout's hands away and peered around him to look at the rest of the group. “Where is he, anyhow?”

Ignoring the fact the guy was clearly uncomfortable with his proximity, the boy once again grabbed the front of his dungarees and pulled him forwards, egged on by his question.

“We need Medibeam. Like, _now_. How did ya get out here so fast, huh? Is there Medibeam in that super secret evil lair you got there? Or do I gotta break in there and find out for myself?”

Scout found himself suddenly airborn as he was lifted by the back his shirt and plopped back down a small distance away. He took a wild swing at the offender, which again was Heavy, and was countered by a meaty palm that was hard enough to send tremors all up his arm when he impacted it. The intervention was enough to let him know that he had to chill out, but at the same time, he had no idea why everybody else was so _calm_.

His one comfort was that Engineer had helped build the _Machina_ which had saved his life, once. And it wasn't entirely the Texan's fault that the machines were being being used for evil. Still, Scout felt incredibly frustrated and uneasy with everything that was going on and Engineer was the closest person he could throw blame at.

Abruptly turning away, he met Spy's eyes.

_A team is what we are. A team is all we have._

Taking a deep breath, he turned back around, fists clenched, and approached Engineer with a solemn expression.

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just … We need ya to help us.”

Engie seemed to relax somewhat, lowering the wrench still held up to his chest.

“Yeah. Never been happier to see you guys walkin' up this hill. I've got a teleporter hidden a small distance away.” The man turned slightly to appraise the small group present. “Look, it's worse than it seems. She's got BLU on her side, and about sixty robots I built from the pieces left after the Grey Mann war. There's Contenders in there. Worst of all, not only is Baldr near indestructible, it's surrounded by some gosh-darned dragon!”

“Uh, Baldr?”

“The machine. What with the dragon and Merasmus' magic … the thing's gonna be near impossible to destroy when it's turned on.”

“That's what she said,” Soldier interjected, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

Scout knew what Engineer was trying to say. There was seven of them – eight if counting Engie – and they were severely outnumbered. The thing they needed to destroy was near indestructable. They had next to no weapons.

Their mission was impossible.

That wasn't all he was worried about, however.

“We need Medibeam,” Scout said again. “Look, plannin' can come later! Bring us some'a the good stuff and we'll know we can trust ya. How does that sound?”

Engineer tensed up again. “Partner, I wish I could, but Medic's got it under lock and key. The Administrator told him you'd be after it. If ya want it, you're gonna have to convince him. Or kill him. I guess the latter would be easier."

A wave of a sudden and uncomfortable tension washed over the group at that. Nobody needed to look at Heavy to see that he was enraged by the idea. Though it was an immense anger manifested only by a slight throbbing of his temple, anybody who knew him was wise enough to quickly shut up and go hide somewhere whenever they noticed it.

“No,” the Russian breathed, staring at Engineer cooly. “Doctor will see sense.” The large man finally turned away from the poor Texan to regard Miss Pauling instead, his arms folding defensively across his chest. “Respawn is frail in new bases. None of us will die. You, me, and the boy will find him. Soldier, Demoman, Pyro – you slaughter tiny men who get in way. Spy, destroy machine. Question?”

Nobody dared answer. Besides the man's obvious rage, his swiftly thought out plan was all they had going for them, and there was no time to try and come up with something better. All they could do was storm inside and hope for the best.

“I've got a teleporter hidden just in the trees. Thought it might come in useful at some point,” Engineer offered, anxiously beckoning for the group to follow him. “It goes into the spawn room. None of them metal men go in there, and the Contender fellas ain't hooked up to respawn yet. Y'all could pick up a weapon or two.”

Scout moved forwards with trepidation. He was questioning whether _he_ was still hooked up to respawn. Technically, anybody who was no longer contracted to work for the Administrator was removed from the system, but if he was to believe everything he had been told, she wanted him back and she wanted him alive. Regardless, he knew it would be stupid to go in there and be reckless. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Sniper and his Ma alone. All the more, he didn't feel ready to _literally_ wrestle with death all over again.

He wasn't ready for any of this, really, but what choice did he have? The team needed him, and he wasn't gonna wuss out when a ton of people were depending on them.

The entire _world_ , in fact. As if he didn't have enough to worry about.

 

* * *

 

The base was impossibly huge.

The inside of the mountain had been hollowed out, and the floor stretched several miles across. The ceiling was non-existent, sloping upwards into total darkness. The walls were coated with thick, metal plates, and supported by humungous iron pillars. Regardless, the structure seemed the total opposite of steady, as every now and then, the walls would shake and stones would come crumbling down from the blackness above. Across the spherical curve of the mountain's inner walls, small, white lights lit the way, casting the place into a lugubrious dimness.

On the eastern wall, there was a large screen that boasted the words:

UTTER QUIET NEEDED

DO NOT WAKE DRAGON

DAYS WITHOUT DRAGON INCIDENT: 1

Scout glanced over the edge of the balcony the team was now occupying. There were rows and rows of balconies and stairs reaching as high up as the eye could see. He was rather more focused on what was below them, however.

The creature had to be a mile long. At first, Scout thought it was some kind of statue until he realised the thing was _breathing_. It was shaped like a monstrous snake and its scales looked like they were formed out of actual jade, glittering in the synthetic light of the base. From where he was stood, he could see the lion-like head and what looked like pieces of rain cloud emitting from the dragon's nostrils.

It was coiled around some sort perfectly spherical structure, a machine of some sort. No, it was _chained_ around it – and every so often, a green and white energy would pulse from between the metal panels the machine was composed of, lighting the dimness of the base further for a few seconds at a time. Every time it happened, rods connecting the machine to the walls of the mountain also throbbed with this odd energy.

“Baldr is powered by the dragon and its mountain,” Engineer explained in a whisper. “Old places like this, they got some kinda magic in 'em. I realised that we can tap into that stuff instead of spendin' millions on electricity.” Peering over the edge of the railing, he gazed down at the sleeping dragon somewhat forlornly. “That thing … it can see right into ya. Like it knows everythin'. By the hammer of baby Jesus, don't wake that darned snake.”

“Oy, this ain't gonna end well,” Demoman muttered nervously. He reached out to grab Pyro, who was jittering with excitement to such an extent that they were growing dangerously close to falling off the edge of the platform.

Scout, growing impatient enough that his sense of wonder swiftly diminished, moved away from the edge and towards the stairs leading to the floor below.

“Which way is Medic?” he asked with a harsh edge to his voice. “And who the heck is guarding this place? It's a freakin' ghost town!”

“It was Mexican Monday yesterday,” Engineer corrected. “Not sure how long we've got, fellas. Medic is the next floor down. Keep goin' and you'll come across his lab.”

“You stay here,” Heavy boomed, barely managing to be discreet. “Build nest. Demo, Soldier, Pyro, you guard it. We continue as planned.”

With a swallow, Scout raised his gun protectively to his chest and began moving down the stairs, trying to find a decent balance between silence and speed. He soon had to forsake the latter, given that he was travelling with Miss Pauling and Heavy – one of whom was in a skirt, and the other horribly slow at the best of times. Falling into a slow jog, Scout kept his eyes ahead, focused on reaching the ominous looking tunnel set several minutes away. Whenever his footsteps clanged dangerously on the metal platform below, he slowed down again and took the opportunity to wait for his teammates to catch up.

Fortunately, they reached the tunnel some time later without being seen. At the end of the narrow, rocky passageway was a thick door with 'RESEARCH FACILITY' printed in black letters on the front. Scout had doubted Engineer at first, but at the very least, he hadn't been lying about the location of Medic and his laboratory. Still, _anything_ could have been waiting for them on the other side of that door.

He tried to pull the wretched thing open by grabbing the edge with his fingertips and placing his foot on the frame for leverage, but to no avail. It seemed the only way to gain access was the pinpad built clumsily within the rocky wall.

“Dammit, it could be anything!” Scout bleated frustratedly, jabbing his finger into the pinpad multiple times. Finding himself being violently pulled backwards by the back of his shirt, he yelped and barely managed to gain his balance when Heavy's huge figure placed itself in front of the pinpad. The Russian thoughtfully stroked his chin.

“Hm.”

“Quit pushin' me around, man!”

“Quiet. Heavy knows password. Do you want to wake dragon?”

After another moment's thought, the older man pressed a massive finger into the pad and pressed it four times. The light flashing red above the door _pinged_ as it turned green.

Gobsmacked, Scout's mouth fell open in disbelief. “What the hell was it?”

“Same as always,” Heavy replied, something of a smug look crossing his features for a moment as he politely allowed Miss Pauling to enter the laboratory first. “1945. The year the war ended.”

It seemed kind of obvious when put that way. Medic had always been verbal regarding the war and how badly it had affected his family. Scout had never been into all that history stuff, but he never talked about it, knowing that it wasn't just history for some of the guys he worked with.

Acknowledging Heavy's smarts with a curt nod, Scout darted into the laboratory and in front of Miss Pauling to protect her from any syringes that might have come flying their way at any moment. Surprisingly – despite Medic's obvious presence, given the enthusiastic humming – there was no retaliation for their trespassing. In fact, Medic didn't turn around at all and appeared engrossed in squashing metal parts into the open cadaver spread over his workspace.

Scout pinched his nose at the smell. Miss Pauling appeared disturbingly interested in what he was doing. Heavy appeared to be entirely used to walking in on the doctor's horrific experiments. Nobody was quick to volunteer the fact they were present, however, unsure as to how their former teammate was going to react.

“Yes!” Medic suddenly bellowed, raising bloodied hands in triumph. What exactly he had achieved, none of them could be sure. They weren't left guessing. Medic swung around and pointed excitedly at the decapitated corpse behind him – which now boasted a metal arm and several broken wires poking out of its open ribcage. “Look! He will be half man, half machine! I have created a cyborg!”

Scout, realising he was holding tightly onto Miss Pauling's arm, quickly released her and humoured Medic by nodding and clapping his hands, even if he could see that the supposed cyborg just looked an awful lot like, well … a hot, stinky mess.

“Oh, uh … hey, yeah! It kinda does look like a cyborg!” the younger man applauded, disconcerted by the fact the German doctor had known they were there the entire time. “Hey, ya know what's just as cool? Medibeam, pal. You got any lyin' around?”

Medic hooted musically with laughter before turning around to resume rearranging the clump of organs within the poor cadaver.

“Oh, yes, but she said that's what you would be after. Dear boy, you may believe you are running out of time, but really you are just _on_ time. I need the Medibeam to keep you alive in case something goes wrong during the Repurposing, you see? It seems Heavy and Miss Pauling have seen sense, at least!”

“Wh- _no_. Nah, man! We're goin' against the Administrator! Sniper's dyin' 'cause of her, and I don't wanna get turned into some ...” Scout's eyes flitted down to the corpse, “... some _cyborg_. Look, ya've got no idea all the crap she's put us through. Give me one good reason you should carry on workin' for her!”

Medic paused for a moment, gently patting a wad of intestines back into place. “Mm. She is the only person alive who will fund my work. The _Deus ex Machina_ never would have been created if not for her money. I do think your anger is misplaced, Scout, when she gave us the means to save your life!”

“So she could use me for her freaky experiments!” Scout snapped, struggling to keep his cool.

“Ah, details. I doubt you have even considered why she wants you in the first place. Your performance has seen marked improvements over the last couple of years. You were the top player for several months running! Now, that's quite a feat, don't you think?” With a light-hearted sigh, Medic pulled off his gloves and dusted off his hands before venturing to the seat at the nearby desk. He sat and watched the others, the cheery smile on his long face suggesting he truly had no qualms about his recent work. “As for some _other_ members of our team, we have seen an unacceptable downward turn. Miss Pauling was the one who brought all this to the Administrator's attention in the first place.”

Scout's jaw tensed. Glancing at the woman to his side, he noted her sudden look of dismay.

“Yeah, well, it don't matter. Past is in the past, an' all that,” the young man retorted. “She was just doin' her job, like you, but then she saw past all the bullshit. Hey, you don't even _care_ about the team's performance, you just wanna get your hands on our goddamn organs, man!”

Medic's smile broadened in grim amusement. “Well, something like that. You all have made remarkable patients.”

About to retort, the Bostonian took one look at Heavy and saw that the Russian's patience was quickly wearing thin, if the hard whistling emitting from his flaring nostrils was anything to go by.

“Enough,” the enormous man grunted, staring at his friend with all the icy coolness of the Siberian Wastes. “Do not be this man. Do not help the old woman. If you cannot see what she is becoming, I fear for you, doctor. You would let friend die because she ordered it? I hope you feel shame. Men like us will not suffer being ordered. Not after how hard we ran when we were boys. Remember, doctor.”

Scout didn't entirely understand the exchange, but if Heavy was able to appeal to what was left of Medic's questionable morality, he sure as hell was going to shut up for the length of time it took. Indeed, it seemed to be working, for Medic's smile swiftly fell away as he considered what he was hearing. In Scout's comic books, shadows were always drawn over characters' faces whenever they were angry, or when they were tormented with memories of the past. He had never actually seen it on a real person's face until then. Medic's eyes seemed to darken with some shadow of years past and it was terrifying to behold.

“You seem to be implying something, _mein freunde,_ ” he hissed, suddenly looking terribly like a wild cat getting ready to pounce.

Heavy remained calm, as always, even in the face of a very real danger.

“Yes. You knew it was crumbling -”

“ _What_ was?!”

“The team.”

A drawn out silence followed. Even Medic didn't dare break the silence.

“I saw it. We all did, but Scout fought past it. He grew strong. He found friends in men who before only pushed him aside in return.” Heavy dropped a solid hand on Scout's shoulder. “His strength will grow. For that, he will not die.”

Not having expected the guy's actually kind words _at all,_ the young runner briefly forgot the predicament at hand and relished the warm, fuzzy feeling that suddenly flooded his chest. It wasn't something that happened often, and receiving what sounded like a compliment from _Heavy_ certainly wasn't something that happened often, either.

“Sniper made bad choices, trying to shield flame from rain,” the Russian continued. “He is not shield. But failing has made him better man. For that, he will not die. None of us will. We grew tired at the end, argued, punched each other often, but what is it you say, doctor?”

Medic shrank back in his seat and awkwardly pushed his glasses up his nose. “Broken bones heal to be stronger.”

“Ah, yes. Now, friend, I understand you; you want to join winning side. I know. But men cannot always be winning side. Mercenaries fight on losing team, too. We need our men. This idiot family will not crumble. Join us, doctor. Do what you could not do when you were tiny boy fleeing home.”

The words were somehow heartwarming and chilling all at once. In the silence that followed, Scout rocked anxiously on his feet and looked between the three others occupying the small laboratory. Miss Pauling was stood in quiet repose, her eyes slightly red and moist, but he was gentlemanly enough not to point it out, somewhat disturbed by it. Heavy, meanwhile, was still staring intensely at Medic. The doctor was staring right back at him.

Eventually, Medic slowly stood and his forehead scrunched up like he was trying to find his words. Scout expected him to say something heartfelt in response to Heavy's powerful encouragement, and so took an eager step forwards when the German made to speak, fists balling in excitement.

“But ...” Medic whined, gesturing at the desecrated corpse nearby like a child would gesture at a toy they want. “My _cyborg_.”

The other three simultaneously groaned, stopping in their track. Heavy, clearly exasperated, covered his face with a meaty hand.

“And Sniper? How long did it take ya to bring him back to life that time, huh?” Scout asked quickly, thinking it best to attempt a new approach. As expected, Medic's eyes lit up and he even did an odd, excited little dance for a moment, hands splayed on his chest.

“ _Twelve hours_.”

“Right! And all that hard work is about to be undone! So ...”

“Oh, all right! You have twisted my arm! I do hate to see such long hours go to waste,” the doctor replied melodramatically. He took keys out of his coat pocket and unlocked a drawer on his side of the desk. Then, he very carefully produced a small, glass cylinder that was filled with beautiful, precious Medibeam, vibrant red in colour and swimming about like it was searching for a warm body to fill with its healing powers.

Heavy grunted irritably. “I could have smashed desk with fist.”

“Now, now, my friend. You made your point, too,” Medic purred, briskly moving around the desk in order to offer up the cylinder. “However, Sniper _is_ evidence of my miraculous talent.”

While the doctor was holding the cylinder, Archimedes fluttered from the top of a nearby cupboard to land on his shoulder. Evidently, he still hadn't gotten around to replacing the bird's missing leg given the pathetic stump that was in its place.

Scout avoided eye-contact with the damned creature, feeling somewhat unnerved by it but unable to put his finger on why. Hadn't somebody warned him about one-legged pigeons, once? Well, maybe he had just dreamt it.

Reaching out, he gingerly took the precious glass cylinder and held it to his chest, hoping his gratitude was properly conveyed by his expression. Medic could be a bit of a prankster when he felt like it, and he didn't want the guy to go back on his word and attempt to take the Medibeam back.

“I'm gonna – I'm gonna run back,” he announced, looking between the other three. “I'll come back and help you guys, I just gotta do this, first. 'Kay?”

Nobody answered. Unnerved, Scout turned and made to run – and then he saw what they were looking at.

The door through which they had come in was now blocked off by a group of five men and women. They stemmed from all walks of life: some were short, some were tall, they were from different parts of the world, but they all shared in that same white lab coat, and that cold, blank stare typical of anyone in the medical profession. There was no question as to who these people were. They were the so-called Contenders that Sniper and Engineer had mentioned, and stood between them was the BLU Medic, bone-saw in hand.

There was nothing more horrifying than five doctors stood in a row and _staring_.

“Let him through,” the RED Medic ordered, but there was something off about his voice, something sinister in the horribly sing-song way he spoke. That was the usual, but in this situation, it made Scout go on edge.

The boy slowly turned back to look at Heavy and Miss Pauling, wanting them to make the decision for him. Should he run through and risk betrayal, or should he trust Medic and make off with the Medibeam, regardless of the growing threats around them?

“Tick tock, Scout,” Medic continued. “Any longer and you'll be too late. Our dear friend is set to expire at twelve, and it's now ...” Retrieving the fob watch attached to his waistcoat, he gave it a light shake and sighed. “Well, it seems my watch stopped. I wonder when that happened?”

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said quickly as the tension in the air suddenly escalated. “Just run. We'll handle this. Right, Misha?”

Heavy made a low sound of acknowledgement in return, still glaring suspiciously at their Medic as the man smiled and waved farewell to Scout.

With a painful swallow, Scout tentatively moved forwards and tucked the cylinder into the back of his pants so that he could wield his gun with both hands. Taking aim, he pulled the hammer and held it up threateningly as he approached the group of Medics blocking his way. However, much to his surprise, none of them made any sort of move to stop him, and they even parted to let him through.

He jolted when the BLU Medic dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“What do you get when you take blue and red away from purple?” the older man hissed as Scout nervously back away towards the door.

“Uh, I don't … Ya get nothing?”

“No,” BLU Medic replied, his face falling in what looked remarkably like _fear_. “You get … green.”

He said nothing further. Confused, Scout gaped at him – then abruptly sped out of the laboratory's exit before any mercy being shown to him was rebuked. Though he didn't want to leave Heavy and Miss Pauling behind, the danger they had apparently been in seemed almost superficial at this point. Why hadn't Medic's associates attacked them? Were they going to now that Scout was out of the room?

He couldn't think like that. He was in a base, and running was his job, so he sure as hell was going to run. Exiting out into the massive main structure of the base, a heavy draft of wind blew up from between the metal platforms and girders beneath his feet. The blast of air was almost enough to send him flying. Glancing down, he saw that he was directly above the dragon's head, and the creature's heavy breathing was beginning to literally alter the weather in the place. A bunch of rain-clouds were forming high up into the formless nothingness over his head, billowing out of nowhere until cool droplets of rain began pattering down. Scout could scarcely believe his eyes.

His trek now made far more dangerous, given the wet metal he was running on, the boy focused on his balance whenever his trainers squeaked threateningly. He had fought battles in rain before, of course, but not when it was raining indoors and everything beneath his feet was a slippery disaster. Minutes later, another heavy gust of wind blasted loudly around the confinements of the circular walls of the base, knocking him off his feet entirely and flat onto his back.

It was only then he saw it. A blue dot dancing on the wall to his left. Snapping his head up, he saw the other team's Sniper balanced precariously on the railings of his platform a number of floors up.

Cold panic flooded his chest. Bounding up to his feet, he immediately set off into a sprint.

_Don't fall over, don't slow down, don't stop shootin', don't give 'em any reason to stop talkin' to you -_

No shots were fired at him. The blue dot followed him, but the assassin lingering above made no attempt on his life. _Why?_

Eventually reaching the respawn room, Scout stumbled across Engineer building a nest consisting of a dispenser and a sentry, the latter beeping threateningly as its gun turned from side to side to seek out enemies. The Sniper that had been tailing the boy had since vanished.

“Dude, somethin' weird's goin' on,” he blurted out, pausing within the doorway to stare at the Texan with wide eyes. “Why aren't they tryin' to kill us? Are they on our side or what?”

Engineer rubbed his sweating forehead with his forearm and grumbled something under his breath.

“Stop trustin' people so easy, boy. Look where it's got you. We're at a stalemate 'cause nobody's been hooked up to this respawn system, like I said. Even I don't know where the control room is, so there's nothin' I can do about it. We gotta use the fact nobody wants to die to our advantage. Nobody wants to be the one to slip up and start some fatal war in this darned hovel. Got it? Now get goin', 'cause it ain't gonna last long.”

“Hey, I'm goin', I'm goin'!”

Scout dived into the respawn room, grabbed a bow and quiver-full of arrows, and then jumped onto the teleporter. In a flash of glowing red particles, he was no longer in the middle of a cold, metallic spawn room, but back in the dreary forest outside of the mountains. It was properly daylight, now, and he could properly see where he was going. By finding the overhang overlooking the base entrance, he could then figure out the way to turn back and find the car they had parked in the middle of nowhere.

Out of breath and soaked to the skin, Scout shivered and struggled to press on, his throat constricting painfully. It seemed to take forever to find his way back, and there were moments he thought he was lost and that he was never going to get there on time. What the hell was he supposed to do if he was too late? No – he couldn't think about that, or he'd be too messed up to be able to focus.

A flash of red through the trees. Wearily pulling himself through the narrow spaces of the trunks that surrounded the clearing, he clapped eyes on the large SUV and leapt over the bonnet when a pulse of adrenaline suddenly coursed through him. One of the rear doors was now open and his team's weather-beaten Sniper was hanging halfway out of it, like he had woken up and panicked when he realised he was alone and attempted to search for his team mates. Or maybe he'd just had a bad dream, Scout told himself, suffering an intense bout of guilt.

He pulled the guy out of the car and onto the wet grass. The assassin was cold and his skin dry and pale. When Scout sharply tapped the side of his face, he got no response.

_Shit._

“Okay,” the boy whimpered, bringing his hands up to clench into his hair as the panic started. “Okay, don't do this to me, man, I'm here just on time, that's what Medic said. What, ya survived all crazy kinds of crap and now ya dead 'cause of some stupid disease? Give me a break!” As he babbled, he dropped an ear down to his friend's chest and determined that the worst, indeed, had come to pass.

His throat constricted so much that for a few terrifying seconds, he couldn't breathe. Regardless, he scrabbled helplessly at the body before him, shaking limbs and slapping him some more to try and urge some life into him.

“C'mon! C'mon, ya freakin' doofus!” Interlocking his fingers, Scout pressed his palm onto the Australian's chest and recalled something that he had learnt in the brief and poorly funded first aid course he had received after joining RED. _Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da_. He loved that stupid Beatles song. He knew all the lyrics off by heart, because he had listened to it every day for a year. He had fantasised about heroically saving somebody's life with it – because the beats to that song were nearly perfect for chest compressions, or so he had been told.

It didn't work. He pumped away for what felt like forever, receiving nothing in return save for the sound of bones breaking beneath his palm as his desperation reached perilous levels.

When his arms began to burn with strain, he was forced to stop. Grief hit him like a freight train. Screw it, there was no way abandonment was worse than this, there was _no way_ -

His fists pummelled the grass hard enough to leave deep welts in the mud. He stood up and kicked the side of the car, gripping his head as he began to lose it. Then, in a last-ditch attempt to somehow resurrect the person he refused to believe was actually gone, he balled his two fists together and slammed them down on the assassin's chest, cursing him verbally as he did.

Nothing.

Exhausted, Scout released a pained moan and fell down onto his rear, curling into a foetal position and rocking slightly, trying to find some small comfort in the warmth it provided.

Death was just a joke. Wasn't it? It had been when it had persevered after him, anyway, but when it dared claim somebody else, when it dared claim them so quickly and without even giving him the chance to say goodbye, then no way was it just a joke. He wasn't laughing. He just felt physically sick, like he'd been punched in the stomach a thousand times. Like somebody was holding onto his heart and squeezing it as hard as they could.

Was this what grief was? It was like some unescapable chasm he had fallen into and it would never let him go, it would just trap him with memories and people that he didn't want to see because there would come a point he would just want to move on, but the shadows would pull him back and the chasm would just get bigger and bigger until it started crumbling and all the unresolved issues in there would start messing with the rest of him -

He didn't want to have to search for that one thing to hold onto. The one lotus floating in a pond.

His face hot and puffy, Scout wiped away the wetness on his cheeks with a muddy fist and unfurled himself with a sniff. Unsure what exactly he was doing, he crawled forwards and moved a hand under Sniper's head, gently lifting it so that he could bring it into his lap.

“Man, remember that first time we were in the _Machina?_ ” he asked in a shaky voice, staring blankly at the trees ahead. “Man, I was a fuckin' dick. I just made everythin' about me even though you were the one getting shanked and like, eaten by giant bugs. Yeah, that was real messed up. And – outside of there, too, before all that, I was a fuckin' dick. Truth is, I want people to like me so bad that I say stupid stuff 'cause I get all nervous and shit. I know ya knew it, maybe that's why you turned out to be the good kind of asshole, at least to me.” His lip wobbled, and he restrained a hard sob. “Y'know why I want loadsa kids? 'Cause then ya've got people around ya forever. But maybe, like … maybe I won't, 'cause one day they'll feel like this, and humans feel stuff more than animals, we gotta lie there at night and think about it. It ain't right, man. This ain't right.”

Over their heads, a steady roll of thunder groaned across the sky. The constant rain began to fall harder. Maybe the dragon chained inside the mountain was starting to wake up.

Despite the soft rustling of the trees and the rainfall, Scout heard light footsteps behind him. He didn't need to turn, because he knew the sound of that footfall, the sly and careful way the person approached from behind.

“Get lost,” he sniffed. “I can hear ya. What, ya gonna stab me in the back and get it over with?”

“No,” came the familiar drawl, not that of the RED Spy but of his adversary, the cunning BLU Spy. Scout could tell, because he had known the BLU's voice for longer. From the time he was a little kid. “It's quite touching, really, that I once walked in on an image much like this not so long ago, and now here I am again, only the two men involved have swapped positions. Apparently, the two of you were not meant to coexist easily, no matter how much you began to want it.”

“Why the fuck are you always around?” Scout snapped in response. Gently lowering Sniper back to the ground, he stood and rounded on the suited Frenchman, who was smoking casually within the shadows of the trees. “Why you gotta be here right now? Who the hell invited ya? I sure as heck didn't, man! Ya know, not long ago I was feelin' good for the first time since you left. Yeah, that's right, I actually started feelin' kinda good 'bout myself, I didn't know all this shit was startin' to happen, I thought I was finally one of 'em and they didn't tell me _anythin'_.” Realising this as he said it, his vision blurred with hot tears again. “Even Snipes didn't, but it's 'kay. I been inside his head and I realised he's as messed up as I am. _Everyone's_ messed up, and they all do stupid shit, but when they do, they gotta have the balls to say why. He did, in the end.” Scout furiously rubbed his eyes and met Spy's intense stare. “Will you?”

Spy's jaw tensed slightly. He folded his arms and plucked the cigarette from between his lips to exhale a steady stream of smoke.

“I can't.”

“Why?” Scout asked, his voice strained. “I'm … I'm your -”

“Don't let emotion get the better of you, Scout. You'll regret what you say. All the more, you can't expect to understand everybody. That _man_ -” Spy sneered, gesturing towards Sniper, “does not deserve your complete adoration. He was an assassin. For his own safety and that of his family, he was forced to refrain from making attachments until it became his nature. He failed at being discreet, became careless, and it saw his parents killed. Now, he lies here, stone cold himself. You can never expect a Sniper or a Spy to stay for long, Scout. They are men who must always leave in the end, or risk everything.”

Scout slowly turned back to look down at the prone Australian. “If a dude risks everythin' for family, then he gets my _complete adoration,_ as you put it. I don't care what ya say, ya stupid frog-faced backstabber. It ain't easy to change what you are for someone else. Hell, I know it better than anyone! But you gotta, sometimes, whether you're an assassin or not. You're the one who freakin' failed, Spy, and it ain't fair that you're the one that's still alive and kickin'.”

Spy raised his hands as if he was relinquishing his stance. “Fine.” Moving forwards, he cast a cynical gaze down at his former adversary's body. “I suppose things don't always turn out how we might expect. Strange things occur to set our paths off course. Things like -”

At a sudden crashing within the trees, both men span around, weapons aloft. Branches were snapping, trees were shaking, like something enormous was barging through the cold, dark forest. Too caught up in his loss to prepare himself properly for danger, Scout just leaned on the bonnet of the car and lowered his gun, forsaking his efforts.

The creature turned out to be the RED Pyro, who was wielding some sort of old, twisted stick like a madman and dashing about the clearing excitedly, disturbing the tension that had been rife in the air moments previously.

“Pyro, quit it!” Scout shouted, momentarily forgetting his innate fear of the mysterious arsonist. “We've lost Sniper, I was too late.”

Pyro stopped running about and slowly moved towards their fallen comrade, head tilting curiously. They then held up a finger like they had just been hit with a bright idea. With a muffled and slightly evil sounding chuckle, Pyro pointed the wooden staff at Sniper – and shot a beam of lightning at him.

Scout recoiled as he was just about blinded by the flash of white, falling backwards onto the bonnet of the car. Finding himself on the ground seconds later, the boy looked fearfully around the mud-stained wheel and was stunned to see Sniper's hands violently twitching. Whether it was a result of the sudden attack of electricity or signs of actual life, Scout didn't pause to think. He seized the cylinder of Medibeam from his belt and quickly unscrewed the lid to place the open end on Sniper's leg.

The Medibeam eagerly flowed out of the tube and into the assassin's body. The twitching and spurts of static stopped. Sniper gasped for air.

Pyro raised the lightning rod over their head and held it in both hands triumphantly, releasing a loud bray of gleeful laughter.

“-that.” Spy finished, the incredulous expression on his face swiftly replaced with one of casual acceptance. “Things like that.” He lit another cigarette.

Scout could only watch in disbelief as his friend spluttered for air and then gradually stabilised, colour flooding the Australian's cheeks to give him his usual healthy, tanned appearance. The poor man seemed confused more than anything, holding onto his chest as if it was hurting him to breathe and raising his head to gain his bearings.

“Pyro?” Scout muttered, blindly reaching for the masked mercernary's arm. “Pyro, ya just … Where did ya get that thing?!”

A series of explanatory mumbles was his response. Pyro shrugged it off, then yelped as they were forced to dance in circles curtesy of the young Bostonian, who was now laughing at the top of his lungs. The boy became so excited that he stumbled and fell flat on his front, but it didn't deter him, taking the opportunity to drag himself over to Sniper and pull the stunned assassin into a strong hug.

“You're freakin' alive! Dude, am I dreamin' this? You were so dead, so fuckin' dead, then Pyro shot ya with some magic stick and now you're back. I can't believe it, man! Oh my freakin' god, I just saw some kinda miracle!”

Not caring that he was pretty much curled up on Sniper's lap like some little kid, he clung to the poor Australian like he was about to go flying off somewhere. His confused brain didn't know what to do except make him laugh and cry at the same time, rather embarrassingly, but he really had no capacity for anything other than sheer elation and a really, really confused kind of grief.

It wasn't often that people came back, after all.

“Dude,” he gasped, grabbing Sniper's collar in order to shake some sentience into him. “You can hear me, right? Wake up proper!”

The Australian's somewhat unfocused eyes came to settle on Scout. They brightened as he managed a smile, apparently amused by the younger man's behaviour.

“Anyone could hear you from miles away,” he replied hoarsely.

Scout's head fell into the crook of his friend's neck – partly out of the enormous relief surging through him, and partly to hide his tear-stained face. It didn't matter they both smelt like shit and were soaked with mud and rain. It was the best damn hug in the entire world (save for those he got from his Ma), because it felt real, the dude was warming up and he was actually doing that awkward pat-on-the-back business he usually resorted to whenever someone surprised him with an embrace.

Also as per the usual, Sniper quickly grew tired of the close contact. “All right, get off, ya wuss.”

Scout pulled back and stared gratefully at his pal from the ground, biting his lower lip in a buck-toothed smile.

“Will one of you get this monster off of me?!” came the shrill demand of Spy. Nobody was quick to help him as Pyro toyed with him like a cat, prodding him with the mysterious rod he had found and threatening him with its power. Sniper, still clueless as to the situation, guffawed crudely at his rival's plight.

“Good job, Py, but we need him,” Scout said cheerfully, standing up to place a hand on Pyro's shoulder. At any other time, he would be terrified by his masked team mate and his unknown capacity for evil, but the mumbling arsonist had just helped save their friend's life and Scout had never been more grateful in his entire existence.

With a noise of reluctance, Pyro ceased what they were doing and moved to stand between Sniper and Scout in a show of solidarity and protection.

“You show a remarkable reluctance to die, Sniper. How many times is this?” Spy snapped, dusting himself off and glaring at the three of them.

“Dunno, ain't countin'. And ya better believe it. I'm the bloody RED Sniper, mate, and I ain't goin' anywhere.” The Australian proudly jabbed a thumb into his chest. “I don't have a clue what's goin' on right now, but I'd wager you're our best chance at getting into that base everyone keeps talkin' about. So look lively, about turn, and get that bony little arse of yours into the forest.”

The Frenchman sneered slightly at being told what to do. Regardless, he was outnumbered and so had no choice but to obey. Scout knew there was a ton of questions he had to ask the guy, but he swiftly became distracted by Sniper's presence, becoming excited enough that he held onto the guy's arm as they began to walk and stared up at him in wonder. His joy apparently being infectious, Pyro did the same on the other side, and it was only thanks to the Australian's patience that neither of them were immediately shaken off.

The rain smelt good. So did the trees, the grass, and even the mud. Whereas before, everything had looked so horribly dreary and even creepy in this place, now it kind of looked pretty beautiful despite the fact nothing had really changed. But something _had_ changed for Scout. Some time ago, he'd been given a second chance. Now, he had returned the favour and given somebody else that same gift, something he'd never thought himself truly capable of. Even in creepy, ugly places, they could be kind of beautiful because there was life there, and life, as fragile and scary as it was, was beautiful.

It was beautiful because at this point, Sniper was pretty much obliged to come to Scout's parties and get togethers. Even if he wore that hideous Hawaiian shirt he was wearing now, caked in mud and whatever else. They'd share beers again and eat a ton of cake and watch dumb shows on TV because that's what people did, and it felt good to be normal sometimes.

Hell, maybe the others would come, too.

 


End file.
